Kali's Regress

by Mark Boliek

  * * * * *

  Athens Eden is a unique town with a lot of history—new and old. I’m not sure if you remember from my first story about JT and the mahogany door, but there was a lot of construction in and around the city during this time. People from miles and even states away find themselves magnetically attracted to the charm of this seaside town. Brand new houses and buildings sprouted from the ground like dandelions in the summer time. One after the other—somehow it never seemed to stop. Yet the town still held its jewels from the past, centuries old buildings and homes, frozen in time. The courthouse in downtown Athens Eden was one of the town’s treasures from years past.

  The red brick building featured a cream façade with tapering columns that appeared to extend deep into the pediment of sculpted clouds covered with angels and demons. The lady justice sat front and center with her eyes covered, just as blind as ever.

  As JT and Jenny walked up the fifty or sixty marble stairs, their breath came in gasps, as if to remind them that, though justice will be served, it is labor. JT tapped his way to the top and, as he opened the large oak doors, the smell of old wood, polished with years of oils, scented and otherwise, hit him. He flashed back to the old doors of Warhead Dale, eerily similar.

  Though the building screamed of the past, the new had taken over the ancient. Metal detectors and high tech gadgets lined the slate floors, ready to prevent people from carrying weapons into the halls of justice, making it clear that today’s world was much different than the past.

  Jenny and JT made their way through the myriad of security checkpoints. After having their bags and box of papers rifled through, they made their way to Judge Porter's Courtroom. The floors squeaked with each step along a peculiar damp hallway that compressed the sound to silence. JT felt a tingle down his neck. One thought bounced through his head. This place is haunted.

  The door to the courtroom squeaked relentlessly. A screeching echo broke the silence and preceded them into the massive courtroom.

  Jenny and JT stood silent, shaking and staring as though they had done something wrong. That may be a cliché, but clichés live for a reason.

  Judge Porter’s large chair pivoted slowly. Jenny drew in a startled breath, which made JT jump. His cane slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor, bouncing. In the clatter and echoes, even the judge covered his ears with the tips of his index fingers. JT felt a sweat break out; he could smell his deodorant. He did not know why the thought popped up, but he concluded that was what fear smelled like.

  An awkward pause hung in the air. The judge shrugged and uncovered his ears. “Welcome.”

  Judge Malcolm Porter was a young man to hold such a high office. JT thought he might have been in his late forties, but with a youthful vigor about him. He was serious, but his job had not aged him as, for example, their terms in the White House aged presidents. Though JT had no idea how long Judge Porter had been a judge, the man looked very comfortable in the chair, not intimidated by his own position or people in his presence at all.

  “I do not want to guess why you are in my court this morning, but I think I can conclude that you are the Davis boy, here about your grandfather's house." The judge's voice cut through the echo in the courtroom.

  “Yes?” JT said, uncertain of how he should answer. He felt like he did when he faced Billy in a dream the first time. If he said what he really thought, he had no idea what the consequence would be. “I'm JT.” He paused, then swallowed. “Davis.”

  “Please come in and sit.” Judge Porter’s voice rumbled through the courtroom. Though the figure sitting high behind the bench in a black robe and tie appeared intimidating to the two young people seeking justice, JT knew the judge was just as human as he was, with normal human shortcomings.

  JT straightened his shoulders and glanced at Jenny, who walked confidently and lightly to the front of the courtroom. Still, he could see that she nervously nibbled her lip now and again.

  The judge spoke while they walked, his words mixed with the sound of JT’s cane tapping the floor. “I know your story, Mr. Davis, though I have not met your companion. Ms. Lind, I believe?” Judge Porter reached for a piece of paper at one corner of his bench and drew it toward him as he placed a pair of reading glasses on his nose.

  Before the judge could utter a word, Jenny tried to speak. “We are here to protest an order given last year to sell—” Jenny did not get her entire sentence out, for Judge Porter interrupted her.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Lind, but that is not how the court works here in our lovely city. You will answer only if I ask you a question or give you permission to speak.”

  “But that’s not ri—” Jenny sputtered.

  “Ms. Lind!” Judge Porter’s voice was forceful. “You will speak when I ask you a question or give you permission to say anything!”

  Jenny shut her mouth. She and JT arrived at the front of the room. Jenny pulled out the red folder and held it in front of her, trying to appear prepared for whatever the judge said. JT knew better. He had a feeling they were prepared for nothing, that things would be dramatically different than he had hoped. He stayed silent.

  “Sit,” Judge Porter ordered.

  JT and Jenny peered at each other. JT could not help smiling sarcastically. Jenny rolled her eyes and sighed. They turned and sat at a spruce pew that ran across the front of the courtroom.

  Time stood still as the minute hand passed twelve, making it nine o’clock. JT fidgeted with the handle of his cane, thinking about its power to open a doorway to another world. He had a small epiphany about why the Vryheid might have created a world that allowed them to control their destiny; he certainly did not want to be in that courtroom at the moment with his fate in the hands of a judge he did not know.

  Jenny, in her attempt to argue for him, tried to speak once again. She straightened her back and started. “Excu—” Judge Porter grabbed the edge of his bench with both hands and burned holes in her head with his eyes. “Sorry.” She slouched back into the pew.

  JT snickered, shaking his head. He knew he was at the mercy of someone else—or, at least, the future of Warhead Dale was. He felt that he could stand up, walk out, get in a car, and drive without anyone stopping him. Then it would be over, at least for him.

  The courtroom door burst open. The noise reverberated through the entire courthouse as the metal on the back of the door slammed into the wall. JT and Jenny jumped, but Judge Porter did not flinch. Someone looking closely might have noticed that his forearms tightened a little.

  The group of people that entered the room had to be seen to be fully appreciated.

  Two large bald men wearing black three-piece suits stormed into the room ahead of the others. They glanced around, left and right, scanning the area for any danger. One talked into his wrist, then, in a flash, the rest of the party filed in. Three women in professional suits preceded a man wearing a light purple outfit with a white hat. His complexion was dark and, despite his colorful clothes, his demeanor was dark, too. A powerful cologne filled the courtroom, a musky odor that immediately reminded JT of Bruinduer. He would never forget the lavender fragrance of the Godwin side of the Vryheid world.

  Billy often disguised himself in the outside world. But it can't be him, JT decided. Why would Billy try to seize JT’s grandfather's house?

  Another man, in a dark blue suit and shiny patent leather saddle shoes, followed him into the courtroom, carrying a briefcase.

  JT thought the man looked familiar, but could not place the face. Patent leather shoes man waited for the gentleman in the purple suit to sit a few rows behind JT and Jenny, then he stepped up to the judge's bench. Judge Porter apparently reading an absorbing piece of paper, had never even lifted his head to watch the crowd pour in.

  JT felt like a peewee football team about to take the field against a professional one.

  “Mr. Gillingham, I presume.” Judge Porter's voice rang through the courtroom. It did not crack, but obviously he had taken care to speak forcefully.


  “Yes, Your Honor. My client would like to file his 681 report at the onset of the court's business this morning.” The man spoke in a brisk monotone.

  “Whoa!” Jenny jumped up. “We were here first.” The annoying, popping voice JT remembered from the bank turned almost vicious.

  All eyes shifted to Jenny.

  “Hmmmm. Yes…” Judge Porter's statement faded to a whisper.

  A silent pause filled the room after the short outburst. The hum of the air conditioning unit was the only sound bouncing off the walls.

  Judge Porter cleared his throat.

  “Yes. I know why you are here.” Judge Porter pointed his nose at Jenny, looking down on her as he sifted through a small pile of papers. He pulled another sheet out. He glanced at it only for a second; the words flowed from his mouth like second nature. “After seven and a half years, I believe the law has been satisfied. Sufficient time has passed and all means of contacting any person with a rightful claim to the land have been exhausted. Therefore your application for an appeal, including an injunction on the auction of Warhead Dale, is hereby denied."

  JT's head dropped. Jenny's eyes watered. “But the law states that—“ Her voice was panicked and begging.

  “I know what the law states, Ms. Lind. I am very perturbed at the fact that you and Mr. Davis decide to show up two days before the auction is due to take place after an absence of years.” Judge Porter's veins popped out on his neck; his skin turned scarlet. The volume of his voice increased with every passing syllable. “Now! If you do not mind, Mr. Gillingham and his client need to file a motion to become a bidder for the property in question.”

  Judge Porter took a deep breath. His mood became much calmer as he turned to Jenny's opponent. “Mr. Gillingham, it will be a time to rejoice when that place is torn down and a nice resort put in its place. It has been an eyesore for far too long, continuously reminding this community of the horrors that have taken place there.”

  The small monologue was surreal to JT. He had heard comments come from the citizens of Athens Eden, but the community’s venom struck him more forcefully now. He never would have believed that his grandfather's house—or, basically, his family—would have been maligned in such an official manner. The next words that fell from Judge Porter's mouth almost made JT throw up. “Those memories must die.”

  What really happened in Warhead Dale flashed through JT's brain. He wanted to tell the judge that what the townspeople thought happened did not really happen and certainly not at the time they believed it had. But his explanation would have been semantics anyway; Charlie was still dead and there was no denying it. Once again, JT saw the angry, displaced, depressed young man plunge into the ravine in Bruinduer. JT could not possibly explain everything to the judge. He would never believe it anyway.

  Jenny tried in vain to get her point across to the judge, but he would have none of it.

  “Ms. Lind, you will sit down and be quiet! In fact, you two should leave my courtroom. You have no more business here," Judge Porter snapped his index finger toward the courtroom door. Jenny huffed, but JT stood and turned to walk down the aisle.

  As he turned, he caught the eyes of the man in the purple suit and white hat. The man looked out from beneath the rim of his cap and beamed at JT. The smile expanded across his cheeks, showing blindingly white and rather large teeth. JT tried to remember where he had seen the man before. His eyes still on the man, he took one step. The courtroom door blew open again.

  A collective sigh rumbled through the room and echoed over the wood. The members of the court froze. In walked Michael, pushing a very old man in a wheelchair.

  “Now you hold it right there, Porter!” The gray-haired man in the wheelchair ordered at the top of his voice, while he waved his right hand in the air, his muscles shaking from weakness.

  Michael and the man hustled down the aisle, paying no attention to the others who occupied the courtroom. The man in the purple suit’s smile turned to a glower; his eyes bulged from his skull.

  “This is very unorthodox, Your Honor,” Mr. Gillingham stated anxiously. “I have no idea what kind of courtroom—”

  The lawyer with the patent leather saddle shoes did not get the last word out of his mouth. Judge Porter raised his arm, pointing at Mr. Gillingham. “Stop, not another word!”

  The presiding judge’s demeanor changed instantly, simply because the man in the wheelchair had entered the courtroom. His abrasive qualities faded and his voice turned almost to a whisper. “Judge Decarte, what a pleasant surprise. What is it that I can help you with?”

  “Malcolm, dear Malcolm,” Judge Oliver Decarte began.