Salvation Road: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow

by Peter Okeafor

  My mother is wearing the same pink dress she was wearing when I killed her at her front door. She looks happy though. She has a big smile on her face. She is a thick brown skinned woman who always had a patient peaceful way about her.

  My wiry, tall, dark skinned father looks back at me. He still has on the same blue jean overalls and red long sleeved t-shirt he wore when I murdered him in his own basement. His scraggly beard, however, is now well trimmed. The harshness and wildness has left his eyes. His eyes are softer. The sadness that used to be there in his calmer moments has also vanished. My father could be difficult at times but I loved him and I know he always loved me. Thankfully, the smell of cigarettes, marijuana and cheap liquor is also gone.

  “Mom… Dad… I am so sorry,” I say in a choking constricted voice. “I’m so sorry.”

  “We know, it’s OK,” replies my mother. “You don’t have to make any apologies. We both love you unconditionally. We were able to see back in time. We already know why you did what you did. We understand your actions. It was not your fault.”

  “I—I told you about trusting the military. They put that crazy junk in your head. That was wrong. Flat out wrong.”

  “I am glad you could summon us. You need closure,” says my mother.

  “So, you know?”

  “Yes, as we had our life review we also gained an understanding of why we died at the time and the manner in which we died. We have a better understanding of the situation than you do. We, however, cannot tell you very much. It is forbidden. You must find the rest of the understanding of this situation yourself.”

  “You have some decisions to make that will affect your future,” says my father. “I guess that is very obvious—but all I can say is follow your heart. If you follow your heart, you will make the right decisions.”

  “Thank you. Thank you for your forgiveness,” I say in a soft voice.

  “There is nothing to forgive,” says my mother. “The time was right. We are in a beautiful place. I am glad I have moved on. I believe your father feels the same way.”

  “Damn right I feel the same. I finally have peace. My demons have left me. I no longer need to self-medicate myself in order to function in the world. Son, you did me a favor. I did some bad things during the war—things beyond what you need to do during a war. I need to experience the same things I dealt out during the war. Your mother did not deserve to die that way but everything has a reason.”

  “I-I am sorry, mom.”

  “Don’t worry, baby. What’s done is done. I lived a good life.”

  “Tonya is going to graduate at the top of her class and will go to the University of Minnesota. She—”

  “I know, baby,” says my mother, “I see everything our family is doing. I am proud of them all—be it their strengths and shortcomings. Everything makes a lot more sense when you can see the larger picture and the long game.”

  “Yeah, man,” says my father, “we make things a lot more difficult than they need to be. I now know that when I look back at my life. I now have a greater understanding of the why, when and where as I watch the people I love still back on earth.”

  “OK…”

  “And son.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  “You need to start going to church.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  “Trust your instincts, son,” says my mother. “Soon you’ll have the power to do great things. Trust yourself and you’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, from here on out you will still have your ups and downs like anybody but you will now have a higher calling. I know you will use your gifts wisely. I trust you,” says my father. “And your mother is right, go to church or find some spiritual or religious group to join. You can’t do this alone. You will be able to fulfill your great promise if you have help.”

  “All right. I understand, dad.”

  “We must now go,” says my mother. “I am so proud of you and I love you very much.”

  “I love you too,” I say as I start to cry.

  “Son, be the man you have always been. Don’t question yourself because of how we died. That was how it was supposed to be. You are still the same boy and man I have always known and loved. Remember that. Don’t you ever forget it. You have not become diminished because of this; you have expanded and become a bigger and better person. You don’t understand it all yet, but trust me. It is true.”

  “Thank you, dad,” I say as the tears really start to come. “I will miss you both, greatly. I love you both so much.”

  “I love you too,” they say in unison.

  And with that… They are gone.

  “Magistrate Scott would like you to attempt to become endowed with The Muse,” says Computer Blue.

  “What exactly does that mean?” I answer.

  “She would like to see if you could become magically empowered. Your neural and muscular implants could be very valuable if you could control them. It was part of your agreement in the house in Northern Canada.”

  “I know, but I’m no longer interested. I want to go to The House of the Rising Sun, meet with one of the 33 Stairway To Heaven monks, and leave this place.”

  “Octavia Scott did you a favor. She wants one in return. That was the deal.”

  “I was under severe mental duress when I made that agreement. My mind was not right.”

  “Nevertheless, you gave your word. I know you’re an honorable man. You will keep your word.”

  “So what if I am visited by The Muse? Then what?”

  “You are a Marine, a warrior, there are many awful and dreadful things happening in the multi-verse. Your skills would be very valuable.”

  “So, I must then, kill for her?”

  “There are many bad people out there. She is on the proper side of righteousness.”

  I sigh.

  “Just when I think I’m getting my life back together—an agreement I barely remember reappears.”

  “You won’t regret it.”

  “What if I refuse to visit China Grove and test for The Muse.”

  “You might as well get comfortable and enjoy your stay here in Suffragette City.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter into the phone.

  “Come on. It’s not that bad. You need a direction and purpose in your life. Octavia will give you that.”

  “OK. By the way, did you pay someone to look after me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Your choice of protector was very good. Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.”

  “What is his name? What is his Muse? He would not tell me. Can you?”

  “I can but I won’t.”

  “All right, thank you.”

  “Now, let’s get ready for China Grove.”

  China Grove is inspired by the song by the Doobie Brothers. I guess the whole Muse thing is somehow connected to the Doobie Brothers song “Listen to the Music.” China Grove is a huge, old gothic looking ballroom with a bunch of couches lining the floor of the hall in rows. There are probably 200 to 300 people in the hall seeking a Muse.

  I have been here for around an hour. Every so often they will play a song of a vacated Muse. Since I have been here they have played “Hypnotize” by the Notorious B.I.G, “You Got Another Thing Coming” by Judas Priest, “What Is and Should Never Be,” by Led Zeppelin, “The Genius of Love” by the Tom Tom Club, “Planet Rock” by Afrika Bambaataa, and “The Sounds of Silence” by Simon and Garfunkel.

  “You Got Another Thing Coming” was recently vanquished in an epic lover’s quarrel that turned into a battle. Kevin Berringer, the host for the Judas Priest song, could not take the wandering ways of Sherri Summers’ Motley Crue’s “Look’s that Kill.”

  So far The Muse of “Genius of Love” and “What Is and Should Never Be,” found suitable hosts.

  I watched a young dark skinned black woman with short braids bonded to her new Muse, “The Genius of Love.” Her body convulsed, her eyes turned glassy and she spoke in tongues as The Muse to
ok hold. Towards the end of her bonding ordeal, she vomited and vacated her bowels. China Grove personnel surrounded her and made sure she did not hurt bystanders or herself. The process lasted for about a half hour. When the bonding was over, she looked exhausted. She was covered in sweat and her eyes looked vacant. China Grove personnel carried her to a back room to recuperate.

  A young Hispanic woman with long hair was claimed by “What Is and Should Never Be.” Her bonding process was very similar to the black woman’s experience.

  The prize Muse is the “Sounds of Silence.” It is a very powerful healing Muse and it has not claimed a host in three years.

  The crunching, staccato guitar riff of the opening of “Symptom of the Universe” by Black Sabbath comes on. A wave—an incredible crushing power—slams into me and it envelops me. I scream out in pain as The Muse pours inside of me. It is an energy of incredible power. I can’t fight it. I won’t try to fight. If I fight, it will fight back and it will win. It may destroy me. It will destroy me. I am so insignificant against it. It floods me and my essence—my being is pushed—contracted—into a ball. I hear grunts, groans and an occasional scream. It is me. There is a strange language babbling in my head. I have never heard this language before. I don’t understand the language in an intellectual way but intuitively—I understand it. And then—I black out. I remember nothing.

  I am walking back to The Crabtree The Third. My whole body is sore, especially my joints. My mental faculties are almost back to 100 per cent. I think it took a few hours for my discombobulated mind to return to some sense of normalcy.

  A Black Sabbath Muse bonded to me. A black man. Some of the stoners I knew in high school would be insanely jealous.

  My phone rings again.

  “Yes, Blue.” I know it’s my computer friend. It is the only one who has my number.

  “’Symptom of the Universe,’ this is wonderful news. This is one of the most powerful warrior based Muse.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ve gathered that much. Now, how in the heck are you going to get me out of here? You can’t leave Suffragette City if you are bonded to a Muse.”

  “Oh, there are always exceptions to any rule. There are back doors out of here. You will not be going through the Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy wing of The House of the Rising Sun compound. That is out of the question. The Stairway to Heaven monks will not allow it.”

  “Well, then what will we do?”

  “Plan B.”

  “Well, I ever be able to come back? I kind of well—this place is interesting. A lot has happened here.”

  “Yes, Suffragette City is special. It is beautifully good and sinfully bad.”

  “Are you coming with me?”

  “No, I cannot. I could in theory but I have prior commitments.”

  “Thank you for all that you have done, my friend.”

  “You are welcome. I created an AI assistant and downloaded it into you. Your artificial network is vast and has the potential to be very powerful. Your AI’s name is Sherlock.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You are now very powerful. You have enhanced speed and strength with your implant and that same system also serves as a powerful AI. You now also have a Muse. The AI has synced with your Muse. The AI will also make sure that your physical enhancements are in harmony with your Muse.”

  “My friend, the man who saved my life, what can you tell me about him?”

  “Since you are leaving, I can be more forthcoming. His name is Johnny Chin. His Muse is ‘Moving in Stereo’ by The Cars.”

  “Johnny Chin. That makes sense. Asian right?”

  “Yes.”

  “He is good. Real good. Send him my thanks and let him know he has my upmost respect.”

  “I will do as you ask.”

  “Thank you. Thank you for everything,” I say.

  Heath “Free Bird” Graymere is Plan B. He is an older white man with long gray hair. He lives in an old gray house at the end of an abandoned street.

  “How does this work,” I ask.

  “Hold your horses, cowboy,” he says in his gravelly voice.

  He punches some number into his old ancient Apple IIC computer.

  “You know, you can get a computer that is a lot newer. The new computers are easier to use and a lot more powerful.”

  “Leave me alone. You young people are too in love with the newest in thing. This is a beautiful machine. It is all I need. If I need something more, I have my red Mac station over there,” he says pointing.

  I vaguely remember those Macs. They are from the late 1990’s. Those were the first computers Steve Jobs launched to bring Apple’s customers back.

  “OK, suit, yourself.”

  “I’ve done some thinking. I need more credit for this procedure. 10,000 credits aren’t enough. I want 25,000 credits. They will kill me if they find out I did this for you. I‘ve only done four or five in the fifteen years I’ve had this Muse.”

  “OK, that shouldn’t be a problem. Give me minute.”

  I call Computer Blue. He deposits more credits in Graymere’s account.

  “All right, check your account again.”

  He punches in the numbers. After a few minutes he does some sort of dance—more like a prance around the room. He then breaks into some weird walk that resembles the junkie played by Samuel L. Jackson in Jungle Fever—or better yet—a zombie.

  “Yipee!” he bellows. “Let’s do this.”

  We walk into another room. It is empty except for a bare wooden doorframe in the middle of the room. The wood floor creaks as he hastily rushes around and starts to place crystals and candles laced with incense on the little shelves on the sides of the doorframe.

  “We must hurry,” he says in a raspy whisper. “They may sense what I am doing and send the sentinels to stop me.”

  He has encircled red and black crystal like rocks with traditional clear crystals.

  The incense is lavender.

  “This saying—it needs to be said with precision. It needs to be said quickly,” says Graymere.

  He starts to chant an incantation. The words are foreign to me. The speech is sharp and precise. He speaks the words rapidly and then it happens. First, the air shimmers and then there is a mild looking vortex.

  “There, now go. Quickly,” he says.

  “Where does this lead?” I ask.

  “Back to the old world,” he responds. “You will meet up with one of those gray people with glowing red eyes. They will guide you the rest of the way.”

  “And I will stay bonded to my Muse?”

  “Of course,” he replies. “That’s what I was paid to do. Now go.”

  I tentatively step toward the doorway.

  “Go hurry. What are you waiting for?”

  I take a deep breath and rush through the doorway.

  – THE END –