Now those are righteous people and their concern is righteous. We need those prayers. It took several weeks for the Dozen to open their eyes, and then we knew right off that three of them were blind. Two more went blind later on. You know what? Quartz loves them even more than the ones that can see. That's how she is.
There's one of the Dozen that has to be fed through a tube in its abdomen. Lots of women would be put off by that but not Quartz. She feeds that baby one or more of its meals every day. She fills the plastic bag and hangs it on an IV hook and stands right there, singing a hymn, while the bag drains. She takes over from the nurse whenever the gal needs a break or goes home sick. Quartz jumps right in there like it was nothing. Now you tell me if that's not a good mom.
Just interviewing nurses and babysitters is a full-time job. Quartz handles most of that by herself. She has to be on the phone six hours a day, sometimes. She's got a little office she goes to for that, in a guesthouse she built out back by the pool. It's the only way she can get enough peace and quiet to do what she needs to do. It's hard work. She might go through twenty or thirty babysitters before she finds one like me, with a calling. Not everybody can handle this work.
We had a teenage girl last month, hired part-time to help out. She came in all cheerful and talking about teaching the Quints baby sign language, because she took a class on it. She didn't watch our weekly program on the Angel Babies Network before she started. Some people haven't seen it. Hard to believe, but some people don't watch cable.
So the first time this girl met both sets of the Quints and saw that some of them had the little flippers where the others had fingers and toes, she broke down. We had to get the nurse to give her a sedative. Then the girl's mom came and drove her home, and she never came back. This job's harder than it looks. I'm sure you heard about the one babysitter we had, last year, conned her way in and then tried to poison two of the Octuplets that are on respirators. Said she was on a mission! She was insane. She's locked up now. They ought to throw away the key.
So there are tears, but there's good news, too. Reasons to rejoice. The Octuplets celebrated their fourth birthday last month. You'll see Quartz and the Dozen on a birthday special soon. That was the last thing they taped before the social workers came. The Dozen were all signed up to be in six new episodes next year. That might not happen now. I don't know. You have to ask the lawyers and the producers about it.
The network and donations cover all the legal costs. So there are good people in the world, and you should tune out the people that aren't good. Otherwise, they'll ruin it for everybody.
So many good people love Quartz and the kids. (You all know who you are! You broke the ratings record for the potty training episode with the first set of Quints. We love you, too!) Good people are all over the place. They send cards and presents. They buy clothes and shoes and little custom-made Halloween costumes for the kids.
All Quartz lives for, is the kids. I could literally testify to that, if those social workers would let me. The night Quartz gave birth to the Dozen she nearly died, soaked the sheets scarlet and ruined the bed. The Dozen wanted to be born, so they came early. One of the male nurses at the hospital passed out. Well, men aren't cut out to be nurses, are they? The doctor rushed Quartz into surgery. She was white as chalk, but she kept saying: "Don't let my babies die."
That's how big her heart is. She would die for these babies. Her heart breaks for them. She visits the ones at the cemetery twice a year. The ones from other sets that didn't come to term have little graves with baby bonnets carved into the stones. Precious as can be.
So what you're talking about, what that prosecuting attorney is talking about, that's the 'abomination.' It's evil to take away a woman's babies when they mean more to her than anything on earth. That's nothing but an injunction against motherhood, or against nature herself. The U.S. government and the state can take a woman's children away, but thank God they can't get an injunction against her blessed womb. As long as that's true, Quartz will fight the good fight, bringing these tiny angels into this cruel world to teach it right from wrong, just the way our Lord and Savior intended.
That's why Quartz does what she does. And that's why the ten of us, the ones that care for these blessed children, have offered our bodies to the sacred cause. We get down on our knees and thank the doctor for his goodness. Come spring there will be a celebration, and Heaven will rejoice to send these new babies of ours, maybe as many as sixty or seventy, into the world.
I still have my babysitting job, but now I'm part of something much bigger. Don't get me wrong. I've had sorrows. My first set of babies was stillborn. I think about them every day, and they give me the courage to go on. I thought about a burial at the cemetery with Quartz's babies, but I couldn't let them go. I felt like they wanted to stay with me, here in my room. This one is June Bug. See how tiny her ears are? And this one is Baby Ben. And here's Little Jillian. And this one with no arms is named Rudy.
So I've got my job with Quartz. And I've got my new job, which isn't a burden like those hateful bloggers say it is. How can you call it a burden to take part in the glory of God's creation? I'm alive to that glory, every wonderful day of my life. Amen.
Heroes and Villains by Michael Montoure
Ben turned sideways, edging through the narrow space in the hall. No other sound, here, but his breathing, the blood rushing in his ears, and the lazy drone of flies. Everything else was deadened by boxes and piles of crap, newspapers and magazines, vinyl records, books. Stacked to the ceiling. All of it seemed like it would come crashing down on him if he took one wrong step.
God, what if there was an earthquake? Could you imagine getting caught in here if there was a fire? He told himself to keep breathing.
Not that he wanted to breathe in here. The hot summer air was so heavy with the smell of old cigarettes, flat beer, and spoiled food that he would almost swear he could see it, a yellow-brown tinge to the few shafts of and gaps between boxes stacked in front of the windows.
"Please tell me all of these are bagged and boarded," he whispered to no one. "Bagged, at least. Or we'll never get the smell out."
He found more longboxes. No way he could reach all the way to the top of the stack, but, with a struggle, he managed to get one of them loose from the pile. He dropped it to the floor, swearing and manhandling the boxes above so they wouldn't topple over on to him.
Panting, he kneeled down and pulled the lid off the box. Bagged, yes, some of them boarded. He pulled out a small stack of comics and started flipping through them. No order to them, no system at all — dime-a-dozen variant-cover Image comics from the Nineties dumped in the same box with a few Golden Age titles he'd only ever seen pictures of on websites.
Gary was going to have a coronary when he saw all this. When he'd sent them out here to appraise the collection, he didn't know it was this big. No idea. No way to tell how many boxes were in the whole house. Dozens, easily, maybe hundreds? Enough to make the Mile High collection look like a spinner rack at Barnes and Noble.
"Have you seen this?" said the excited voice behind him.
"For Chrissakes, Paulie, keep your voice down," Ben stage-whispered. "Or we'll never talk her into a good price for all this."
"Okay, yeah, I know, but have you seen this?" Paulie repeated a little more quietly. "She's got Dark Justice number one! First goddamn printing! Look!"
He thrust the comic at Ben. It was nowhere near Mint condition — Fine or Very Good at best. Not worth hundreds, but fifty bucks at least.
"That's pre-Comics Code Authority. They had him, like, breaking bad guys' necks and shit like that," Paulie said. "So awesome. I am the stroke of midnight! I am the spirit of vengeance! I am Dark Justice!"
Ben laughed. "Yeah, it's cool, but, here, put it in this." He dumped one of the Image comics out of its sleeve and carefully took the comic from Paulie. "Where'd you find it? Are there more?"
"Tons more."
"Show me," Ben said, and followed him th
rough the crooked house.
* * *
Hours later, well after dark, Ben was exhausted. Paulie still seemed energized, like a kid on Christmas morning. He's nineteen, he's just five years younger than me, but some days it feels more like twenty.
"We didn't manage to go through everything," Ben told Mrs. Grant apologetically.
"Oh, I didn't think you would," she said. "Not in one day. He had so many comics, my David." She looked distant. "He's dead now, you know."
"Yes, Gary told us that. Our store manager, I mean, the man you talked to on the phone." Ben reached for the right thing to say. "I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Oh, thank you. It was his time, poor David. It's this house, really. He kept saying we'd move someday, but this house has a way of holding onto people, just as much as it holds on to things. I keep trying to sort out some of his things, and, well, some of my things too, I suppose, but — it all just gets away from you, doesn't it?" She still smiled, but tears were welling in her eyes. "I keep trying."
"Well, you came to the right place," Ben said. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement."
Gary would never let a find like this slip out of his fingers. He might have to take out a business loan. Hell, he might need to move into a bigger storefront, but he'd find a way —
"I know they're worth some money, at least, aren't they?" she said. "Would... would five thousand be too much to ask?"
From behind him came Paulie's startled yelp, "Five thousand?"
He shut up when Ben, smiling and calm, took a small step backwards and his heel came down hard on Paulie's foot.
"That is too much, isn't it?" she said sheepishly.
Ben's mind reeled. He hadn't looked through a tenth of the comics, and he knew he'd seen over five thousand dollars' worth already, easy.
"Well, it is a lot of money," Ben said, "but I'm sure we can manage to make you an offer. It's too late to reach my manager, but I'm sure he'll be back to you tomorrow." He'd wanted to call Gary earlier, but his cell phone had no signal in that house.
He had a sudden horrible thought. "Have you talked to anyone else about these? Any other offers on the table?"
"Oh, no, no one else. Are there even any other comic book stores in town?"
"No, I don't think so," Ben said, thinking of at least half-a-dozen. "We'll call you tomorrow, Mrs. Grant. It was very nice meeting you." Very nice indeed.
* * *
Paulie didn't shut up the whole way back to the bus stop. Ben mostly nodded and grunted in response. He stared off at nothing. This was huge. Gary had talked about giving them bonuses for handling this, but now — how big a bonus? A promotion? Maybe he'd finally talk the bastard into making him assistant manager. That would be something.
"Still can't believe they had all those old school Dark Justice issues," Paulie said. "That is my favorite character of all time. Seriously, all time." As if Ben couldn't tell that from half the T-shirts Paulie wore to work.
"Uh-huh," Ben said.
"And five grand for the whole goddamn thing! I cannot wait to see the look on Gary's face when we —" Paulie stopped in mid-sentence and dead in his tracks. "Do we have to tell him?" he said slowly.
"What?" Ben stared at him. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Paulie's eyes were almost as wide as his glasses. "No, seriously, listen — Gary doesn't have, like, a legal claim on those books right now, right? He hasn't made an offer or anything, yet, right?"
"Okay, so?"
"Just saying, she wouldn't know if she was selling to the store — or to us. She wouldn't care, even. Ben, think about it. That's enough comics back there to start our own comics store with."
"Holy shit." Ben wanted to sit down. He settled for sinking backward against the nearest newspaper box to lean against it. "You're right."
"We could do it," Paulie said. "Seriously. Five thousand dollars isn't that much money." His voice broke a little when he said it, but he looked determined. "We each come up with half of it, go in on it together. Partners. Don't go into work tomorrow. Tell Gary you're sick, you quit, tell him anything, just don't tell him what we found. We get the money and come back here instead. Okay? What do you think — deal?"
Ben did the math in his head. He's right. We could do it. I've got almost two thousand in savings. I'm sure I can borrow some money from Zeke or Tommy, or hell, even Mom. But no way I could come up with five thousand all by myself.
He shook Paulie's hand. "Deal."
Something felt like it shifted, in that moment, like his whole world tilted off axis, just slightly. As Paulie gripped his hand tight, and their eyes locked, the world kept spinning. Ben leaned back uneasily. It's that damn house. Being in that damn house all day is just getting to me, that's all.
"This is my bus," Paulie said, looking past Ben's shoulder. "I'll call you later, all right? I'll call you. Oh my God, this'll be so awesome." He held up his hand for a high-five, and Ben awkwardly managed one. "I'll call you," Paulie kept saying, and waving, and grinning his head off as he ran for the bus.
Ben walked the rest of the distance to the bus stop, still a little off-balance. His own store. That was all he'd wanted since he was nine years old. So much to think about. This would give them stock to open with, but they'd have to come up with money for the space. They'd need a business license, insurance, a ton of paperwork and fees he probably didn't even know about, but — this was the start. A new life.
He sat down on the bus stop bench, dizzy with it all. He could get a better apartment. Maybe finally keep a girlfriend for more than six months. No more taking the bus — he could get his dad's old '89 Camaro up and running for the first time since it was his.
His very own comics store.
He frowned.
Well, mine and Paulie's.
That didn't sound as good, somehow.
What the hell kind of business partner is Paulie going to make, anyway? He's just a kid, for God's sake. This is the first smart idea he'd ever had in his life. He still plays with the toys and action figures at Gary's when he thinks no one's looking. His voice still almost breaks when he gets too excited about something, which is all the damn time.
Is this really someone I can walk into a bank with and ask for a business loan? Will Paulie be able to make tough decisions, like when Gary had had to fire Jordan for stealing shit? He shook his head, staring at the ground. He saw a rock near his foot and kicked it out into the street.
If only I'd thought of it first. I could've kept the idea to myself. But no, I need Paulie for this, no way I could raise five —
He looked up suddenly.
No, I couldn't... What about Paulie? We shook on it. We've got a deal.
He shook his head, disgusted. A deal? Come on. Grow up.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dialed a number. A store of my own.
"Hey, Zeke — sorry, I know it's getting late. Listen, you know how you always said if I ever changed my mind about selling the Camaro, I should tell you first? Well — you still interested?"
* * *
Ben stayed up late that night, unable to sleep. Paulie called him, a few times, but he turned the ringer off and let it go to voice mail. He was busy, looking at commercial real estate listings. Christ, he'd had no idea it was that expensive. No wonder Gary was always so stressed at the end of every month. And he played around in Photoshop, coming up with ideas for logos. Atomic Comics, was the name he'd settled on. Big bold Fifties font, bright colors, a rocketship in the background. Very retro.
He finally fell into bed and woke just three hours later to the alarm he'd set, a whole hour earlier than if he'd actually been getting up to go to work. Lots to do. He had a car to sell, and storage space and a moving truck to rent.
Paulie caught up with him at the old woman's house, as he and Zeke and Tommy and a few other guys he'd promised pizza and beer to were hauling boxes out to the truck. He was starting to realize that the storage unit he got this morning was only going to be big enough
for maybe half the comics, but he'd figure something out for the rest.
Ben knew he looked terrible, but Paulie looked like shit. He clearly hadn't slept at all. He looked kinda feverish and shaky.
"I got the money," he said, holding out a check.
Ben glanced at it. It had a fancy floral-print, probably his mom's.
Ben grunted as he lifted a box into the truck. "Oh, yeah? Cool, that's great."
"What..." Paulie looked around at all the activity, like a kid would stare at the bugs underneath a rock. "What's going on?"
Ben walked back toward the house. "What does it look like?"
"She's letting us take the comics before we even pay her?"
Ben sighed and stopped. "No. I paid her already, this afternoon. The whole five grand."
"Oh." Paulie stared at the check in his hand. "So — I pay you my half? I can change this — "
"No. Look, Paulie — just go home, okay?"
The look of comprehension that dawned over Paulie's face was almost horrible to watch. Ben couldn't help thinking he looked like the guy in the last panel from some old issue of "Tales from the Crypt."
"You can't. This was... this was my idea! You can't just —" He stared at the check in his hand and looked up at Ben with wide, wild eyes. "I got the money! I did! Do you know what I had to do? Do you know what I did?"
"Just go home."
"I can't ever go home! Don't you see that? This is — this is just —"
"What — unfair?"
Paulie shook his head. He stared deep into Ben's eyes, his hands balled into fists.
"Evil," Paulie said, and he sounded so serious when he said it that Ben wanted to laugh. But when he opened his mouth, the sound caught in his throat. He could only stand and watch, open-mouthed, as Paulie stormed off.
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