Intervention: God's Other Children

by Rob Mclean

  “I didn’t get home that night,” she told him. She hoped he felt guilty.

  “No, I took your I.D. I wasn’t thinking. I was drunk and I guess I panicked. I didn’t want our parents finding out what was happening.”

  Worried about your own skin, she thought, “So where is it now?”

  “I hid it in a pot-plant at that club. You might have to get another. Did they keep you in hospital overnight?”

  “No. They were busy with the riots downtown.”

  “So what happened then?”

  “The security guy took me home.”

  “He what?” Zeke exclaimed. “He can’t do that…”

  “What did you think would happen after you drugged me senseless and then left me there?” she spat. The venom in her voice wasn’t like the nice Christian girl she was supposed to be. Her anger at him had been festering for ages. It gnawed within, looking for an outlet, but to hear it in her own voice surprised her. She hoped her mother wasn’t listening.

  “What did he do with you?”

  She was satisfied that Zeke sounded really worried now. “He and all his friends could have done anything they wanted with me, thanks to you.”

  “But they didn’t. Did they?” She was sure there was real concern in his voice.

  Angela let him wait for an answer. She savoured his anxiety. It showed he cared.

  “Babe, are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

  “No, they didn’t. I’m fine,” she finally said, not wanting to let Zeke off the hook so easily.

  “Thank the Lord,” he said with relief. “Now I won’t have to kill them.”

  “Ha! As if you would. ‘Vengeance is Mine,’ remember?” she quoted. The thought that Zeke would actually fight someone, let alone kill them made her almost laugh. She knew that he had been doing some self-defence Karate or something since he was a kid and had a few dusty trophies on his bookshelf, along with ones from swimming and some other sports, but she always known him more as a lover than a fighter. The whole thought of Zeke beating up a bunch of security guys like John was totally ridiculous, but she took satisfaction in his ire. “No, he was a rare gentleman. He treated me like a sister.”

  “Really?” Did she detect a hint of jealousy in his voice? “You were lucky.”

  “Lucky? No, I was protected,” she stated.

  “Protected?” Zeke asked, “by who?”

  “By God - or at least, Pastor Greg thinks so.”

  “Yeah, of course,” Zeke said. “Who would have thought that this whole mess would end up as a religious experience? You should share this with your house church group.”

  “I don’t think so.” Really, he could be so insensitive sometimes.

  “Look, I’m sorry about all this mess. It’s all because of those pills…and that bouncer…and the alien thing.”

  “Yeah, I shouldn’t have asked you to get them,” she conceded.

  “But you need them,” he said, “and it should have been pretty straight-forward.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve lost all that money and still need to get some pills, but thanks for trying.” She hoped he heard the sarcasm.

  “Anyway, I got them for you, babe, ’cause you wanted me to,” his voice crooned over the phone. She was glad that he wasn’t here in person. She found him hard to resist when he was playing up to her.

  “Yeah, well…thanks, I guess.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you babe.” She felt as though his words were welling up around her toes, threatening to flood up her legs to overwhelm and drown her in his devotion.

  Suddenly a flash of irritation broke his spell. She had heard these words before countless times. Their power had weakened with repetition.

  “Anything,” she mimicked, and then added, “except to marry me.”

  “Oh, come on, babe. Don’t start with that again…”

  “I will. In the eyes of God, we are living in sin. If you cared for me…”

  “Of course I care…”

  “And it’s your soul too, you know.”

  “No, that’s your mother talking. It’s not like that, you know I love you, but the time’s not right…”

  She had heard his excuses so many times that she could recite then for him. She took the phone from her ear and with a violent stab, abruptly ended the call.

  “Bastard,” she fumed at the inert phone.

  She sat there for a moment and tried to calm herself. Her thoughts raged like angry wasps. They repeatedly stung her with memories of her relationship with Zeke.

  She had known him since kid’s church when she was too young to sit and listen to the sermons. Even back then he had been self assured and confident enough to tell all the other kids which ones were allowed to be his friend or not. She had always been one of his best friends. She had always followed him and did as he wanted so she could stay being his friend. She had always liked being his friend when they were little. He always looked after his friends and was nice to them.

  As they grew into teenagers, his charismatic ways made him the natural ringleader and object of admiration. Within the closed social community of the Church, he defined what everyone thought was cool. He was always organizing exciting and interesting things like BMX, remote controlled cars or paint-ball, abseiling or skateboarding. Later, he got into motocross and rally cars, surfing and music bands.

  He led with his contagious enthusiasm. His word was rule. If he didn’t like something or someone, then they were out. She remembered being left out. She had tried very hard since then to be in.

  Later they had met again at Summer Camp when she was sixteen. Her cheeks still reddened when she recalled their first awkward fumbling in the dark of a cool summer night behind the girl’s dormitory. The guilt it had caused her at the time had been tinged with the fear of being discovered. Her fears were outweighed by a yearning that he had cultivated with persistent kisses and fondling into a blossoming desire which devoured any resistance she could muster.

  A few months later she found herself in his bedroom. His family was conveniently absent on those warm autumn afternoons. They spent many delicious hours exploring the intoxicating realms of each other’s bodies, pushing back the unexplored zones on a weekly basis.

  A little after a month of tantalising touching, she had finished her mapping of his lean, hard body. She knew every part of his sleek, taut body, but there was just the one, insistent part that mattered to him. She marvelled at how responsive he was to her touch, but one afternoon, his bliss inexplicitly turned to pain.

  “It’s been too long,” he moaned as his fingers held his own angry manhood tentatively, like a foreign specimen. “It hurts.”

  “Hurts?” In all innocence she didn’t know what to do with it. “We had better stop.”

  He groaned with pain. “It won’t go away.” She could hear an edge of panic in his voice that worried her.

  “Should we call a doctor or something?” His anguish had seemed so real to her at the time. When his only answer was a low moan, she asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  By way of an answer, he took her hand and wrapped her fingers around his organ. She remembered how hot and solid if felt for the moment before his whole body tensed up and started to convulse and twitch.

  She couldn’t believe now that she hadn’t known what was happening at the time. She had thought he was having some sort of epileptic fit, but the sticky mess that followed made everything clear.

  It was a revelatory moment. The release of the strange sticky fluid had brought Zeke such relief he had collapsed onto his back. He was as relaxed and floppy as his organ had become.

  Moments later, he meticulously cleaned up all the mess with some tissues that he just happened to have nearby. He had thanked her profusely for her ‘help’ while puzzling out aloud just how it all had happened and how that sort of thing had never happened to him before. She had accepted his gratitude at the time as genuine.

  “I love you,” he had said then. She could still re
member the way her heart had thumped so hard, like it was filling her with a joyful bliss that threatened to burst out in a squeal.

  It was the first time anyone, other than her parents had said that to her. From that moment on she loved him right back and told him many times as she snuggled up to him as close as she could. He stroked her hair and she wished she could get even closer still. She had wished she could slide under his skin and they could become as one, like the Bible says a man and wife should be.

  Looking back now, she realised that she had also felt a strange, heady mixture of pride at having been helpful and useful to Zeke at the time, but also a sense of power as she revelled at the simplicity of the male anatomy.

  At that moment, her rueful self-incriminatory memories were interrupted by her mother sitting next to her on the lounge. Clarice put her hand on Angela’s arm. She wondered if her mother could sense her misgivings as Clarice rubbed her forearm.

  “He won’t marry me,” Angela said. If she wasn’t so angry, she probably would have burst into tears.

  “Is that what all the nightclub business is about?”

  “I suppose its all part of it,” Angela admitted.

  “Why don’t you give that security man a call again?”

  Angela blinked to clear her head. She stared at her mother, who just smiled slightly.

  A number of replies jostled about her mind; From ‘It’s none of your damn business’ or ‘Who are you to suddenly give me advice on men?’ and ‘Why didn’t you see what Zeke was doing to me?’ but instead she settled for, “But he’s not a Christian.”

  “I know, dear,” she replied still with that gentle maternal knowing smile. “I’m not asking you to marry him. Just have him over for dinner or a coffee sometime.”

  She paused and waited for Angela to digest her meaning, then added, “Make it soon and tell him to wear a tie.”

  “I don’t think Zeke would like me to do that,” Angela said automatically.

  “But, dear,” her mother said with an assassin’s smile, “that’s the whole point.”

  Chapter 18

  The view from Eloise’s office at the BlackSky complex had improved since her last promotion. She now had a third floor office overlooking the manicured lawns and sculptured bushes and hedges.

  John watched a bunch of contracted gardeners finessing over the already immaculate greenery while he waited outside for his boss to arrive. She also has acquired a personal assistant since he had last met with her. An androgynous metro-sexual waif in an expensive suit had shown him in. His pale skin was so smooth that John couldn’t see if he had ever needed to shave or not.

  “Ms Gant will be along shortly,” the PA sniffed. John was wearing his regulation security uniform. He was certain it had been cleaned and ironed, though not well enough for the PA, judging by the distaste written on his pampered face.

  “Thanks, buddy,” John replied cheerfully. It always amused him how much it annoyed some people when you ignored their attitude and were overly friendly despite them anyway. This PA was no exception. “I’ll have a coffee while I wait. White with one, thanks.”

  “There’s a coffee machine in the staff room at the end of the corridor,” the PA said, then studiously ignored John as he busied himself in paper shuffling.

  John laughed to himself and returned to the view out of the window. He was in an exceptionally good mood this morning and wasn’t going to let Eloise’s little PA bring him down from it.

  Instead the PA made John feel a sort of pity. The poor guy almost seemed scared of me, John thought. Probably wouldn’t last five minutes outside this surreal cocoon of the head office world before someone thumped some sense into him. This is probably the best place for a softie like him.

  A phone call from Angela last night was the reason for his happy hormones. She had asked him over so her parents could thank him, or so that was the reason she said she had for calling him, but John knew that there was more. Or at least, he hoped there was. He remembered how good she had felt in his arms. Her soft, curvaceous femininity when she had hugged him at the nightclub. He could feel her pressing up against him all over again and her soft smell that roused his masculine instincts even now. The thought that she had called him, it must mean that she wanted him. ‘But do I want her?’ he thought.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a breathlessly busy Eloise as she arrived carrying an armful of folders. She moved with the grace of a catwalk model in her designer heels, but with the hurried pace of a busy executive. In a thin, black pencil skirt and tight white blouse, she had the figure to catch any man’s eye. ‘Well maybe not her gatekeeper’s eye,’ thought John. ‘Maybe that’s why she hired him. Couldn’t be his congenial nature.’

  “Why hello, John,” she produced a textbook generous welcoming smile. “Do come in.” She opened the door for him and ushered him in.

  “Thanks,” he replied. Then turning to the PA, he called, “Later, Chuckles.”

  The PA flinched momentarily before returning to his pressing paperwork.

  “Don’t be giving my PA a hard time,” she said with what John thought was mock seriousness. “Samuel does such a fantastic job,” she continued in a slightly raised voice for Samuel’s benefit.

  He turned, gave her a glowing smile and sat up straighter in his seat. She smiled sweetly back and waved at him as she turned and followed John in.

  Her subtle, yet insidious crisp, floral perfume caught John’s attention as he passed, but it only caused to remind him of Angela. He remembered having been close enough to her to sample the fragrance she had used.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Eloise said, “but it‘s been so busy.”

  Although she had a not unattractive face, John saw that when she smiled, it was transformed from being rather plain into a thing of radiant beauty. She wore minimal make-up and her dark hair was pulled back severely, giving her an efficient, business-like look. Her pearl earrings and matching necklace, he noted, were probably worth more than he made in a month.

  “No problem,” he replied, “Samuel kept me entertained.”

  “No really,” she said with exaggerated seriousness, “don’t give Samuel a hard time. A good PA is so hard to find.” Then she said in a low conspiratorial whisper, “He does most of my work for me.”

  John smiled obligingly.

  “He’s just a little protective,” she said. John had an image of packs of predatory, corporate men in business suits amorously sniffing at her door with only the effeminate Samuel to protect and defend her. He smirked at the thought.

  “Of my time,” she continued, as if she was reading his mind.

  “Of course,” John quickly agreed.

  They had an unusual relationship. Having started with the company at the same time, they had undertaken the induction and initial training together. They had hung together during that time, spending their breaks and lunch-breaks either together, or along with the rest of that intake. At the time, John had convinced himself, using his eighteen-year-old reasoning and self assurance, that Eloise had taken a liking to him.

  He still cringed now when he remembered how he had made a pass at her at the first company Christmas party. She had just stared at him for what had seemed an eternity. Behind her bright blue eyes he could see that she was thinking deeply, calculating, and assessing her options. He had known at that instant he had made a mistake, but before he could say anything, she smiled brightly and had simply said, ‘No thanks.’ She then had gone on to say something about not drinking too much if he were to be driving home. It was then that he had made up his mind that he would never again mix work and play. His resolve hadn’t faltered since, and to her credit she had never mentioned the incident ever again.

  After that, John had gone into the security side of things, while Eloise had gone on a ballistic rise through the corporate ranks, working her way up the managerial and human resources departments, until now she was his direct line manager.

  Eloise dumped her paperwork o
nto her expansive, yet barren desk. John half expected these aberrant papers to dance across the desk and file themselves neatly away, if only to obey her supernatural laws of obsessive neatness. He supposed that she must have some secret magical space that she kept all the clutter that normal people had on their desks.

  “Thanks for coming in. Have a seat,” she said, turning to face him. She half stood and half sat on the nearest edge of her desk. Keeping it casual, thought John as she leaned back and spread her arms behind her for support. He tried hard not to look at her long, shapely legs or her cleavage that was thrust forward and had to consciously remind himself to look at her eyes instead. If she noticed his struggle, she gave no indication of it and continued unabated.

  “The management team here at BlackSky have been in a series of crisis meetings all weekend, and together with the Board of Directors, they have developed a strategic plan that we hope will maximize the company’s position,” she paused for breath, so John interjected.

  “Okay, so how does this affect me?”

  “A good question,” she stood and moved around to the other side of her desk, shuffling papers as she went. “We feel that in light of recent developments, the company is looking to refocus its priorities…”

  “You mean the alien spaceship?” That does tend to make people refocus, he thought.

  “Yes, the possibility of interaction with an alien culture is a cause of great excitement for the company. I can’t tell you how thrilled we are at the prospect of learning from these travellers.”

  “Assuming they don’t wipe us all out first.”

  “We have discussed that option and dismissed it. We don’t think that is their intention. We are hopeful that we can step up to the challenge this opportunity presents and learn from these alien visitors and move forward with the fabulous technologies that they will bring.”

  John’s eyes glazed over as he stared out of her office window and imagined a utopian future where humans lived among the stars, courtesy of their alien business partners. He wondered if some of the Aztecs and Mayans thought along similar lines when the Spanish and Portuguese arrived in the new lands of America.