The Not

by A. R. Braun

  “Come on,” Don said, “give and take here. If I lose you and have to worship him to get you back, then you have to believe The Not’s pulling the strings.”

  “But how could you worship it after what it did to Rio Rancho?”

  Don looked downward. “Because life’s not worth living without love.” He met her eyes. “Call me a hopeless romantic. You’ll have to believe me then, and it stops. I won’t give him power over Albuquerque.”

  Fay scowled. “Fine, whatever.” She rose. “I want to go inside now.” She didn’t take his hand.

  Don rose also. “Do you hate me?”

  Fay gave a weak smile that didn’t show her teeth. “No, Donny, I don’t hate you. But no more talk about this deity till tomorrow, okay? ‘Cause you’re freaking me out.”

  “Deal.” Don held out his hand. “Walk hand in hand?”

  Fay sighed. “Okay.” She grasped his hand, and they walked to the elevator.

  What am I going to do when The Not breaks us up? I don’t ever want to call on him again.

  Don knew now that he’d better not.

  Had the wind just hissed in reponse to his thought?

  CHAPTER 14

  In the waiting room, Don’s head was spinning when he thought about Fay’s reaction to what he’d said. What a revelation for a twenty-two-year-old girl! Then she hadn’t believed him. How maddening!

  Fay left the seat by Don and sat by her mother. “Mom, can Donny stay with us at Uncle’s? His house was destroyed.”

  Fay’s mother frowned at her. “But you’ve only known him for three days.”

  Don shook his head. “I can get a hotel room, it’s no problem.”

  Jim said, “Nonsense. We’ll fit you in, on the couch or something.”

  “Thanks.” Don smiled.

  Fay’s mom gave Don the evil eye.

  “Aren’t you running out of money since you don’t have your job anymore?” Fay asked.

  “Not yet,” Don answered. “And I had homeowner’s insurance with a nationwide company.”

  A silver-haired doctor with glasses came into the waiting room. Her mom bounded up, as well as Fay and her uncle Jim.

  Fay’s mother asked, “Will he be all right, Doctor?”

  The doc frowned. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. He didn’t make it. I’m sorry.”

  Fay’s mom keened while hugging Jim. Fay whipped her head around and stared at Don. He stared back.

  After a few seconds, Don rose and put a hand on Fay’s mother’s shoulder. “I’m very sorry, ma’am.”

  Fay’s mother gave him a tearful glance and nodded. “It’s Georgia.”

  Don smiled at her first hint of compassion.

  Fay rose and engaged in a group hug with her mom and her uncle Jim. Don sat and ran his hand through his short hair.

  Georgia gingerly pulled away from Jim. Fay clung to her.

  “Let’s go on home, Georgia,” Jim said.

  Georgia dabbed her face with a tissue as her daughter pulled away just a bit. “I suppose so. Oh, dear Lord.”

  “Bob’s in a better place, in heaven — we’re the ones left to suffer.”

  Sure about that, buddy?

  More tears came as Georgia nodded. “You’re right.”

  Fay let go of her mother and walked over to Don.

  Jim took the crook of Georgia’s arm and then looked Fay and Don over. “Come on, gang.”

  They headed toward the elevator as the nurses walked down the hallway and, ironically, left no one in charge at the nurses’ desk. The pain-filled cries of the sick assaulted Don’s ears.

  A shaven-headed young man in a trench coat stomped out of the elevator, right past Don and company, and into the waiting room. He whipped out a pistol and shot a towheaded girl that looked ten or twelve in the throat. Her eyes went wide, and she sat down hard, then fell onto her back, gurgling. Her neck spewed a dark red fountain, like some twisted version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The murderer caught a middle-aged brunette in the side of the head. She slid down her seat sideways, then fell out of the chair and landed on her face. A man with a crew cut and a stocky build leaped at the killer, but caught a bullet in both eyes, his glasses exploding on impact, lens by lens. They fell onto the floor, along with his blood, making a crimson-and-glass mesh. He fell onto his back with a thud. A little red-haired boy who’d gone for a soda ran in and bit the gunman on his right asscheek. The latter whipped the gun around and splattered the child’s brains on the new carpeting, staining it with blood and gray matter.

  Don had the insane thought that it must have been a cap gun when he’d heard the deafening noises of the rounds. It had to have been some kind of a joke. But he couldn’t doubt his own eyes as he stared at the river of blood.

  Fay and Georgia screamed.

  Jim’s eyes goggled. “Oh God!”

  Anxiety hit Don’s mind like a pickaxe.

  Jim and I should jump him, but he’ll spin around and blow our heads off before we can reach the nutcase. Besides, the damage is done.

  The elevator opened. Don glanced at the open space, then back at the gunman — who craned his neck to look them over — then back at the open space.

  “Everybody in the elevator, now,” Don cried.

  They rushed inside and Don hit the first floor button, pounding it with his finger like a woodpecker pounding a tree. The gunman wheeled around and pointed the gun their way.

  “Get down,” Don cried and all but fell on Fay, as Jim did with Georgia.

  The gunman stepped toward them to get a better shot. Mercifully, the elevator doors closed. Bullets rained on the exterior doors, sounding like someone taking a hammer to sheet metal. The elevator descended. The group rose from the floor, Fay and Georgia’s eyes wide. The women trembled.

  Jim looked at Don. “What should we do when we get to the first floor? If he’s running down the stairs, he’ll get there before we do.”

  “I doubt we’re the only ones on his agenda,” Don answered. “Security should be on it pretty soon. I hope.”

  The elevator doors opened, and Don breathed a sigh of relief when he saw policemen dashing up the stairs, with no sign of the gunman. Don’s group hurried out. The elevator doors closed; the car headed upward.

  “Come on!” Don said. “Let’s go!”

  Don had never run so quickly. He doubted any of them had.

  ***

  Don followed Jim’s station wagon to the gravel driveway of a modest ranch house on the outskirts of the city. Great minds think alike. Everyone’s mood was somber. The home had a spacious yard, where a black pit bull and a brown rotweiller strained against chains tied to two different oak trees. They barked their heads off.

  “Delilah, Dixie, shut up!” Jim said.

  Jim must have mowed the yard recently and used herbicide, because the manicured grass couldn’t be improved upon. Some horses galloped and others grazed in the field by the house, surrounded by a white picket fence. Jim unlocked the door and told everyone to come in and he’d fix some beverages. Don walked in last, looking over the place. Generic western posters and various Native-American artifacts adorned the home, including a tomahawk, a dream catcher and even a peace pipe. A few cheesy cowboy and Indian paintings hung on the yellow walls. A brown suede couch held bright red pillows, and a full bar called to Don at the end of the living room.

  Fay and Georgia sat on the couch, blank looks on the women’s faces.

  Do I love Fay enough to sacrifice Albuquerque? And did those people in the waiting room die because of me, since I won’t worship The Not? How am I going to live with that, if it’s true? And what about Uncle Bob? Did the deity kill him too?

  On autopilot, Don followed Jim into the kitchen. He admired the marble floors, the new-looking dishwasher, the fridge and the two ovens built into the walls. The redwood oak table with high-backed brown wooden chairs stood out to him as he rested his hand on the Formica counter.

  Like a recording: “Hell of a place, Jim.”

&n
bsp; Jim turned to him for a second as he put coffee on, then made a pitcher of instant tea. “I call it home. Why don’t you go sit with your girl?”

  Don took a seat at the table. “I want to comfort her more than anything, but…”

  Jim glared at him. “But what?”

  “You’re right. I need to get in there.” He walked into the oak-floored living room. Don sat next to Fay, pulled her head to his shoulder and whispered, “Shh, shh, everything will be fine.” He kissed her.

  Finally, Fay smiled. “I love you, sweet Donny.”

  Don smiled also. “I love you too, my precious flower.”

  Somebody had turned on the plasma screen TV mounted on the wall amidst the paintings. The women probably wanted to see if the news reported the shooting. The sound of a radio rang out from the kitchen. Don listened hard and recognized the distinctive sound of a police scanner. They’d caught the bastard, thank goodness. The early-evening news reported of the devastation in Rio Rancho. A lovely blond reporter said if anyone survived the attack in the suburb, to call the phone number on the screen. They’d love to interview them.

  And hand me over to the police so they can blame the destruction on me? No thanks.

  A veteran male newscaster came on and prepped everyone in TV Land for a speech from the president about the terrorist attack on Rio Rancho. Don wished him luck figuring out who did it. This time, it wasn’t ISIS.

  Jim came in bearing a tray of cups, glasses, a coffee thermos and the pitcher of tea. He set it on the wood end table. He went to the bar, grabbed a small glass and added water in an acceptable form: ice. Then he poured himself a scotch.

  “Don, you want a snort?”

  “Sure,” he answered.

  The bitter-tasting drink soothed Don’s nerves.

  Jim handed Georgia a scotch also.

  “Where’s mine?” Fay asked.

  “I think the heavy stuff’s a bit much for you, baby girl,” Jim answered.

  Fay sighed and slammed her back onto the couch.

  The rest of the day was pretty quiet. Jim and Georgia discussed the wake. Everyone ate a light supper of cold cuts, for nobody had much of an appetite. The late-evening news also carried the stories of both Rio Rancho’s obliteration and the shooting in Albuquerque. Apparently, the young gunman’s girlfriend worked at the hospital and had just dumped him. She’d left their apartment before he woke up, leaving a Dear John note. Since she’d skipped out on her shift as a nurse and since the nurses’ desk had been empty, the psycho had shot whomever was convenient to misplace his anger on. The same lovely blond newswoman that had been on earlier talked to the survivors of the dead relatives in Rio Rancho. Albuquerque was under a cloud of mourning.

  Don and Fay stepped out to the porch for an after-dinner smoke. The cool breeze caressed him as the dogs occasionally barked. They didn’t speak at first, but after a few minutes, she put her arm around him. He did the same while inhaling the bitter smoke, again wishing it was a joint. Don and Fay looked up at the stars as they’d done the night of their second date. They didn’t seem so magical anymore, even when a falling star screamed toward earth.

  “It’s going to be all right, precious,” Don said.

  Fay nodded, then broke the silence. “Do you think he’s angry, this Not guy?” She stared straight ahead.

  Fay’s form was shrouded in the shadows of the night, but what he could see had just become all the more tantalizing. “I thought you didn’t want to hear about that till tomorrow morning, that you didn’t believe me.”

  Frowning, Fay turned to him. “I know there are terrorist attacks, and sometimes people go postal, but there’s more to it this time.” Her voice sounded broken.

  Don stared at the dark field where horses ran. “Don’t make too much of it. The guy just flipped out when his girlfriend dumped him.” He wasn’t sure the gunman had showed up because of The Not, and Don didn’t want her to worry over nothing. She’d suffered enough with the loss of her uncle and her house.

  “That Not thing wants me too.”

  Don snapped his head her way. “Huh?”

  “Before you arrived, those kids that got shot were fuckin with me. They pointed at me and called me Barbie, then laughed. Mom said to ignore ‘em, that they’re just kids.”

  “But adults got shot too, honey. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Fay turned to watch the horses. “You’re probably right. The guy just snapped.” She sucked on her cigarette, blew smoke out of her mouth and stared at him. “Even if what you said about that Not thing is true, you can’t pray to it, not after what it did to Rio Rancho.”

  “You’re dead right there.” Don tried to pull on his smoke and got a more bitter taste, surprised it had burned down to the butt. He’d been too involved in the conversation. The hot ash fell onto his lap, and he cursed and brushed it off.

  Fay stood and he followed suit. They dumped their cigarette butts into the bucket on the porch. She put her soft arm around his waist, an enchanting sensation.

  “Let’s get some sleep, sweetheart,” Fay said. “I’m exhausted.”

  “All right, baby.” Don followed.

  Georgia was spreading a couple of quilts on the couch, which, apparently, was a pull-out bed. Her head turned his way. “I hope you don’t throw your back out on this thing.”

  She’s warming up to me.

  “It’ll be fine,” Don lied. That rail on the small of his back would be dreadful.

  Jim tamped his pipe and rose from his brown leather barcalounger. “I thought about giving you one of the guest rooms, Don, but I don’t want Fay sneaking in there, not in my house.”

  “Oh, Uncle Jim,” Fay said.

  Jim sighed. “I guess we’d all better turn in. Only sleep will kill the pain.”

  “Amen to that,” Georgia replied.

  Fay planted a kiss on Don’s cheek, her lipstick squishy-sweet. “Goodnight, you spiritual warrior.”

  Full of love, Don smiled and touched her forehead with his. “Goodnight, angel.”

  They retired. Jim was right; sleep was a blessing.

  ***

  Don woke to conversation in the kitchen. He’d put the pull-out bed back in during the night, unable to sleep with that rail crippling his back. The sounds and the scents of sizzling bacon and fried eggs wafted over to him, and the smell of coffee grabbed him by the throat. He rubbed his eyes, getting the sleepy dust out, then rubbed his lips with his fingers, taking the lip scum off. He expected Fay to bend over him and kiss him good morning, but…

  … “It moves,” Fay said.

  Don craned his head and caught his girlfriend sitting at the table. She glowered at him while Jim and Georgia fussed over breakfast. Jim cursed after he burned his hand on the stove, and Georgia poured orange juice into glasses. Don remembered The Not and the devastation in Rio Rancho. Then he recalled the deity saying that if he didn’t worship him, Fay would leave him for another. He winced.

  Fay said, “It’s kind of strange, Don being here. That’s got to be the worst burden, knowing he should’ve died in Rio Rancho. How’s he gonna live with that?”

  So much for Fay calling him “Donny.”

  “Hush,” Georgia said, a little louder than a whisper. “He can hear you.”

  “I don’t care,” Fay continued. “We only went on a couple of dates, and here he is in my uncle’s house.”

  Don sat up and blinked, focusing on Fay, her mouth set into a scowl. Oh, my God, don’t let The Not be right! Oh, no. Here it comes.

  “You’re the one who invited him,” Georgia added. “If you don’t want Don here, tell him to leave. If you ask me, he’s been pretty good to you.”

  Fay shot Don a look that burned into his soul.

  Does she even realize why she’s doing this?

  Fay turned away, sighed and sipped her coffee. “I’m too young to be dating a guy who’s thirty. I don’t want a relationship. I’ve got my whole life ahead of me! Then he makes up some weird story about an Indian God. The guy
’s strange, I swear.”

  Jim stomped over and grabbed her wrist, making her whimper. “Then you go have a talk with him on the porch, little Miss Unthankful. We’re trying to have breakfast.”

  Georgia sat at the table. “Do as your uncle says.”

  Fay hissed, pulled her wrist from his grip and got up, her chair’s legs screeching on the floor in protest as she backed out. She stomped over and stood before the couch, then put her hands on her hips. “I want to talk to you outside.”

  Don rubbed his face gravely. He nodded and pulled back the quilts. Don still had his pants and shirt on.

  Fay shook her head, holding her hands out as if he was stupid. “You slept in your clothes?”

  The honeymoon’s over.

  “Take it out to the porch!” Jim barked. “We’ve got enough to deal with, all the shit that’s goin on!”

  Fay stomped to the door and yanked it open, then walked outside. Don dragged his socked feet along the floor, the longest walk he’d ever taken in his life. Tears formed in his eyes.

  “He-he-he-he-he.”

  Shut the fuck up.

  Don walked out the door and closed it behind him. Birdsong chirped under the weak morning light. Fay ripped the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out and lit it. She replaced the pack and the lighter in a harsh manner, making Don cringe. Fay blew the smoke out of her nostrils, keeping the cigarette in her mouth like an old crone housewife with a cast-iron skillet at the ready. She crossed her arms, glaring at him with a furrowed brow and apathetic eyes he’d never seen her possess.

  “You should find a hotel or something,” she said tersely. “We’ve only known each other for three days.”

  Don shook his head.

  I never asked to be born.

  “I told you this would happen,” Don choked out.

  “Will you quit talking about that pagan god bullshit?” Fay yelled. “This is a Christian home.” She started to move toward the door, then stopped.

  Don sat on the porch steps and wept bitterly with no regard for being seen in such a way.

  Back to this shit: without bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.

  Fay’s cold voice from behind him: “I want you gone before I get out of the shower.”