Islam Rising

by Johnny Jacks

  “In that case, I accept your invitation.”

  “Yay! See you later, Mr. Dean.”

  “See you later, Marcie.”

  While helping set the table, Marcie looked up at her mother. “Know what? I like Mr. Dean.”

  Shannon’s broad smile lit her face. “Me, too, sweetie, me, too.”

  Larry looked up from reading his paper and frowned. “You don’t mean Grayson Dean, our new neighbor?”

  “Yes. Do you know him?”

  “I saw him moving in and recognized him from the news reports several years ago. You used to hate him, complained about him all the time. When did that stop? Better yet, why did it stop?”

  She forced a false smile. “I caused his resignation from the Houston Police Force, one of my grandest achievements. Once he left, I haven’t thought about him and there’s no reason for me to be enemies with him now.” She bent her head to the cobbler she was taking from the oven to hide the guilt filling her.

  “Interesting he moved next door to us and now you’re old buddies?”

  She snapped her head around and glared at him. “Stop it, Larry! I admit it’s strange, but it’s been years since I got him fired. If anyone should hold a grudge, it’s him, not me. Please be nice at dinner.”

  ~~~

  Grayson smiled at Shannon. “Dinner was delicious. You’re a great cook. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  Marcie beamed. “Peach cobbler and vanilla ice cream was my idea. I rolled the dough.”

  A quick flash to his last dinner with his family burned, and he found Marcie staring at him and waiting for a response. “Peach cobbler is my favorite, and I haven’t had it in years. Larry, you are one lucky man to have these two sharing your life.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  This guy is weird. He watches Shannon and me like we’re monkeys in a cage. I need to walk cautiously. He’s guilty of something or suspicious of me; it’s subtle, but it’s there. Maybe, the new alpha male in the neighborhood threatens his metrosexual manhood. Tough shit.

  Shannon gave Larry a dirty look. “Gentlemen, retire to the living room while Marcie and I clean the dishes.”

  Larry walked ahead to a loveseat and motioned to an overstuffed chair for Grayson. As they settled with a brandy to top off dinner, Larry spoke blandly. “So, Grayson, I’m curious. When you were a cop, Shannon hated your guts, and I doubt you particularly liked her. Now, you seem like long-lost best friends. What gives?”

  Grayson pegged Larry as a class-A metrosexual. The bleach-blond permed do and the thin strips of hair along his jawlines that blended with his well-groomed goatee were indications of his struggle to hide his subconscious sense of masculine inadequacy. The pretentious ass craning his neck to look up at me doesn’t help. We’re as different as a tiger and its prey. The question at this point: which was which?

  “There came a time after I lost my family when I realized hate consumed more energy than…any other sense I had for people.” Accepting this dinner invitation was not a good idea.

  “You mean a sense like love…for example.”

  “And other feelings that fall in between. I lost the desire to hate when my wife and daughter were killed.” Larry seemed satisfied for the moment. I need to get the hell of here!

  “I remember Shannon telling me about that wild car chase and the accident. My condolences.”

  Grayson changed the subject quickly. “You have a beautiful daughter, and it’s obvious she’s an extrovert.”

  Larry’s face turned to stone cold marble. “She’s a lot like her mother.”

  Shannon entered with a glass of wine and sat beside Larry. “Marcie’s playing with her Barbie dolls, her favorite before-bath-and-bed ritual.”

  Holding his brandy high, Larry proposed a toast. “Here’s to our new neighbor. May your presence enhance our community.”

  “Hear! Hear!” Shannon raised her glass. What a dick I married!

  They engaged in small talk for a few minutes before Grayson excused himself and left.

  ~~~

  Halfway down the sidewalk, he heard Larry’s angry shouts about never inviting that SOB to his house again.

  Grayson hesitated, fists clenched. He forced himself to continue to walk, ignoring his innate male instinct to protect Shannon. His anger accelerated as his thoughts flew to his conversations with Father O’Brian and Mark. Mark’s hopes that Grayson would not forfeit his integrity over a forbidden woman came back to smack him in the face.

  Way to go, dumbass! You successfully broke ALL your rules in one day! And look at the result.”

  He went straight to his newly stocked refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of Heineken, and looked at it as if viewing another world through the green glass. He was a protector, a sheepdog, but tied with an invisible chain to a tree. Unable to protect his female, the volcano erupted.

  He threw the bottle against the kitchen’s tile wall, where it burst in a torrent of crushed glass. He grabbed another beer and repeated the action, then fell to his knees in the scattered glass, looked to heaven, and screamed, “Father O’Brian, you’d be ashamed to call me a man of God! I have failed in every way!”

  ~~~

  At first light, Grayson awoke in the wet grass and felt around for Millie. Finally realizing where he was, he rolled over and struggled to stand. His knees were hot with a hundred bee stings and his pants were stuck to them. He could barely crack his swollen eyes. What happened?

  He saw the light in his kitchen and memory assaulted him. He’d screwed up royally. He remembered promising Mark, Father O’Brian, and God it would never happen again. He couldn’t escape the fact that he had lied to all of them, especially God.

  Shannon’s reaction to him yesterday had stroked his ego, but the fact remained that she was married and had a child. Hurting that little girl or Shannon was not his intention. He questioned what he would have done if a Grayson had come sniffing around Margaret and Amanda.

  He staggered into the house through the kitchen door to find glass shards and beer scattered everywhere. “Dear God Almighty, will I ever get control again? Please forgive me.”

  His body aching, he walked stiff-legged to the bathroom where he was startled at the image of a broken man staring back at him through the mirror. Eyes red and swollen, crusted with sleep, he gazed at the blood spotting his face. He turned on the shower, allowing it to warm while pulling off his filthy shirt. He stepped in with his pants on to soften the bloody cloth stuck to his knees. Finally stripped, he let the steaming hot water wash away blood and glass slivers. Soap set him on fire, but he scrubbed with the punishment he felt was warranted.

  Over the next two weeks, Grayson picked glass out of his face, arms, and knees and stayed inside, showering on occasion as his beard grew. He contemplated his lost family, his lovely Laura, his lust for Shannon, and his life in general. He ordered pizza and Chinese delivery and ate canned soup as substitutes for real food. He deliberated what to do about the trashed kitchen, a reflection of his own life.

  Margaret and Laura were constantly on his mind, and he missed Millie and visits with Wayne. He decided telling Mark and Father O’Brian about Shannon was a mistake. He’d set himself up to fail on all fronts. Annoyed that Murtadha was out of reach, he again fancifully toyed with the idea of going back to the Middle East to kill the scumbag, but logic caused him to forfeit the idea altogether. By the end of the second week, he had made concrete decisions.

  He had a responsibility to the Set Patriots. As the XO, he was the de facto commander and had to keep them motivated and trained. He also had to determine what to do differently to prepare to fight organized gangs, especially MS-13 and Murtadha with his hardened jihadist fighters, assuming they ever returned.

  They would have years of combat training and experience. If the Intel was correct, he was no longer a street fighter with limited skills but combat ready, trained and experienced, which somewhat leveled the playing field.
He and Mark must turn the SET Patriots into a military fighting machine capable of defending against attacks from these enemies. He also had to help Wanda prepare Daniel and Gabriel for bugging out when the time came.

  As time passed, he started to become accustomed to his new surroundings and his new life. The pizza deliveryman’s recoil at the inside air when he opened the door told him it was time to destroy the evidence of his beer bottle tossing battle. After removing the signs of his emotional eruption and a good scrubbing of the kitchen, he showered, shaved, dressed in clean clothes, and went shopping for a Texas-size steak to put on the grill.

  Arriving at the supermarket, he noticed a small gym in the strip mall. He stepped down from his truck, glanced down at the results of inactivity, pizza, and Chinese food, to his waistline and walked directly to the gym. A buff young man in a foot cast greeted him and presented workout options and costs. He apologized for not having an instructor on hand. “I just purchased this place and getting started is more difficult than I imagined.”

  Grayson rubbed his chin. “Hmmm. I’m looking for a job and have years of experience with the Army Physical Fitness program. Hire me and I’ll start a military-oriented program for you that’ll bring in customers.”

  “Sorry. I don’t have enough customers to pay for employees yet.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Put a sign in the window, ‘Green Beret Fitness Program,’ and I’ll be here in the morning at eight to start the program. You can pay me as a consultant when I start making money for you. In the meantime, I’ll pay you for my workouts. How does that sound?”

  The young man stuck out his hand. “Damn. I can’t argue with that deal. My name is Brandon.”

  “I’m Grayson.”

  Before Grayson left, they made plans to advertise the new class.

  ~~~

  Grayson grilled his steak and, for the first time, took his meal to the table in the sunroom. Looking through the huge glass enclosure, he became aware of his unobstructed view of Shannon’s home. Mixing the butter and sour cream into his baked potato, he contemplated his situation with her. Cutting into his steak, he looked at the small row of yellow knockout roses on the border of their properties and drew a thick mental line along it, resolving never to cross it until the time was right, if it were ever to be.

  Chapter 45

  Douchebag Larry

  Year 10

  “Thanks for coming over, Jillian. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Baby sister, we are the only ones left in our family.” She handed Shannon a tissue to wipe her eyes. “Other than some distant cousins, we don’t have anyone to turn to but each other.”

  “Thanks, Jillian. You’re my sister and best friend. It’s good to have someone to unload on, but it’s a one-way situation lately. I have a guy friend but, because of Larry’s insane jealousy, I can’t have anything to do with him.”

  Jillian cocked her head sideways. “Oh, Sissy, you’ve been holding out on me.”

  “Not really,” she lied.

  “You said that too quickly and dropped your eyes.” Jillian filed it away for later ammunition. “What’s the douchebag up to this time and where’s Marcie? I have a birthday hug for her. She’s very tall. Hard to look at her and think she’s only seven today.”

  “She’s playing Barbie dolls with her friend, Melodie. Larry has his issues, but he’s doing well in his job. I was so happy when I discovered that we were pregnant and—”

  Jillian scolded Shannon as though she were a child. “We! We were pregnant! You were pregnant, not him. Stop with the politically correct crap. He was conspicuously absent most of those nine months and you know I’m not talking about his stupid job.”

  Shannon stood her ground. “Down girl! I’m starting to accept that you’ve drifted completely away from our liberal roots, but, the fact is, a married couple is considered we for pregnancy.”

  “Mom and Dad were brainwashed…and by extension, so were we, but that’s for another day.” Jillian giggled. “Let’s talk about your guy friend.”

  “I haven’t told you this before, but when I discovered I was pregnant, it was the happiest day of my life. I couldn’t wait to tell Larry. I rushed home from the doctor’s office and cooked a special dinner, put on a pretty dress, used the fine china, put candles on the table, the whole shooting match.”

  “You must be upset Miss I-Hate-Guns.”

  “Touché. Anyway, when I told him, he stared at me for the longest time, his face turned purple, he became extremely angry, and he barreled out of the house. He went to the club and got drunk, something he continues to do, and quite frequently.”

  “He’s always been a douchebag loser who runs to hide rather than deal with real life.” Jillian threw up her hands. “I know! I know! You thought he would change, but they never do. He’s a douchebag mama’s boy.”

  “Stop calling my husband a douchebag.”

  “No! Admit that you agree with me. Divorce the bastard.”

  “We’re Catholic. Divorce is out of the question. I discussed annulment with Father Flannery, but I have no grounds acceptable to the church.”

  “He’s well over thirty and older than you. When is this maturity supposed to kick in?”

  “Will you listen?” Shannon begged.

  “Sure. As soon as you tell me the latest irrational thing he’s done to you and get on to your guy friend.”

  “I can take whatever Larry throws at me, which isn’t much outside sex, and he’s pathetic at that.” Shannon looked away from Jillian and bit her lower lip. “Do you know I’ve only had an orgasm one time in my entire life?” Shannon dropped her head and shook it. Expelling the air from her lungs. “I can’t believe I said that!”

  “TMI!” Jillian was in shock. “I’m glad you’ve gotten at least one in.”

  “Yeah, lucky me. Marcie craves her father’s attention, but for the most part, he ignores her, and the rest of the time, he treats her with pure meanness. I honestly don’t know why. Maybe it’s his way to avoid responsibility for her. Maybe he wanted a boy.”

  “Ask him.”

  “He refuses to talk about it or get professional counseling. I sometimes wonder if he has another woman but feels unable to escape from us.”

  “I can’t see it. The douchebag doesn’t have it in him.”

  "You enjoy demeaning him, don’t you?”

  “With good reason. He’s destroying the lives of my baby sister and niece.”

  Shannon’s tears began to flow and she blubbered, “She tried to climb into his lap this morning for her birthday hug. He stood up, dumping her on the floor. I wanted to kill the bastard.”

  Jillian’s mouth fell open. She held Shannon the way a mother holds a traumatized child, stroking her hair while Shannon sobbed. As Shannon calmed down, Jillian abandoned her sisterly bantering.

  “I would kill the bastard, or at least I think I would. Then, I’ve never been married, or loved a man or a child enough to want to lash out. I can be a sounding board, but that’s about it.”

  “That’s what I need the most, someone to listen.”

  “Well then, let’s talk about you. I’ve watched you go through some changes over the past few years, but you’ve not lowered the volume on your tough, liberal positions. You mellowed in some ways after Marcie was born and don’t belittle cops so much now; yet you continue to fight for that stupid gun control ban and push the Progressive Movement’s agenda. What gives?”

  “I had some experiences…awakenings I suppose, that gave me pause for contemplation.”

  “What experiences?”

  “It started with that high-speed chase I was involved in years ago. I wanted to do something awful to a criminal. And then—”

  “What kind of awful?”

  “I actually wanted the cops to shoot Carlos Murtadha. The detective I was riding with had just told me some horrible, evil things he’d done.”

  “Oookay. What else?”

  “I was harsh—beyond all reas
on harsh—with a witness.” Shannon shuddered. “Later, I realized…I’m still conflicted. Give me a second.”

  Shannon struggled to say what was on her mind. Without warning, wrenching sobs tore at Shannon’s body. Jillian gave her the room to purge whatever was torturing her. Shannon wound into a tight ball of pain and she wouldn’t look at Jillian.

  “I saw myself…saw what I had become…a…hard-hearted bitch. I didn’t give a damn who I destroyed as long as I won the case. It was a moment of perfect clarity. I hated myself and barely made it through to the end of the trial!”

  “Oh, Shannie, you’re not hateful. How could you hate yourself? Was the witness a woman?”

  “It was the detective I rode with when his wife and daughter were killed in the accident. I tormented him on the stand, belittled him mercilessly. He looked like I had killed him.”

  “Shannie, baby, that must have been horrible.”

  “It was. The poor man couldn’t breathe.”

  “No, honey, I mean horrible for you.”

  “I’ve never hated myself more than at that moment. What happened to me? Where was the compassion I thought I had?”

  Shannon began to feel relief sharing her torment with her older sister. She wanted to tell her about Las Vegas but held back. How could she tell her sister that, for the first time in her life, she experienced the marvelous feelings of being in love? Even if in the throes of passion, it felt real.

  It took months to admit to herself that her tryst with Grayson was more than a fantasy. Then the guilt set in. Telling Jillian about Grayson would serve no purpose and might create big problems with him living next door. Jillian saw the world differently than she did.

  “Let’s just say that I’ve done my penance and received absolution from Father Flannery and let it go at that.”