The Assigned

by A. D. Smith

  “Like I said—”

  “I know what you said man, but just take the number as a favor to me for helping you out. Please.”

  It’s nothing but a gesture, guess it’s the least I can do. I shake my head before reluctantly taking the slip of paper, placing it into my pocket. Not even sure if these two will get where they’re going the way they hassle back and forth.

  “So you wanna grab a bite to eat first?” Tre asks. The frown on Gloria’s face serves as a response.

  “Okay. Well can you stop me by the house considering I just wrecked my truck?”

  “I don’t even know you like that.”

  “Oh come on Mami, I just need to change, pick up a new whip.”

  “Don’t call me Mami. My name’s Gloria. Got it?”

  “Okay, okay, chill. Got it. Well I’m Tre “TNT” Turner. Don’t let the grass stains fool ya.”

  “Como un idiota presuntuoso!” says Gloria before storming off again.

  “Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to,” says Tre. “Well, do you wanna meet her or not?”

  “You said ‘her’ right? Fine. Any woman has to have more sense than you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  And we’re supposed to have special powers? Yeah right. Enough with these two. My next move is to join officer idiota in the squad car.

  Chapter 14

  I can’t believe I let this practical stranger talk me into leaving with him. Well not quite a stranger, I know exactly who he is. It came to me earlier. All-time leader in yards at the University. But I dare not let him know.

  Now in his spare car, a 2011 Mercedes sedan, with his name stitched into the upholstery, I’m reminded of the sheer excess these athletes squander through. I could do so much with only ten percent of what he makes. He doesn’t even know how good he’s got it. And all that gaudy jewelry. Where are we going, a video shoot? This guy tries way too hard. The cologne he obviously drenched himself in nearly runs me out the vehicle. Or maybe it’s this sweater he let me borrow. There’s no way I was going to let him take me by A’ma and I’s apartment. For a number of reasons. He’s probably used to girl’s throwing themselves at him. Hmph. Well he won’t have to worry about this one.

  Now, of all things, I find out he doesn’t even know this woman. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I say. “I thought you said she was your friend?”

  “I said acquaintance. And I’ve—well, I’ve seen her a couple of times,” he answers.“You’ve seen her? What?”

  “Look,” Tre says while glancing over. “You got a better idea?”

  “So some lady you’ve never met hands you a card that says ‘Prophetess’, of all things, and immediately you think she has the cure to cancer? Give me a break!”

  “Look, if she’s in left field or she can’t help us, we can leave. It’s that easy. I mean c’mon, we just saw black smoke coming out of a man’s head while playing live action Mortal Kombat in the park. What do we have to lose?”

  What the heck. He’s right. The happenings in my life turned bizarre long before this current adventure. What’s one more? Not only did I see black smoke floating around a man’s torso, I saw Tre do some pretty remarkable things as well. There has to be a connection. No matter how immature, infantile, and materialistic he may appear.

  “Just drive,” I sigh.

  “Besides,” Tre continues. “She seemed to be expecting my call. Asked how many were with me. Not sure what’s that about.”

  “You think Zeek will call?” I ask.

  “Who cares,” Tre blurts. “That guy’s got a serious attitude problem. We helped save his daughter and he barely says thanks.”

  “Well you never know what people are going through,” I say reflecting on my own situation.

  “Tell me about it,” he counters. “So, what do you think we all have in common?”

  I watch as Tre vigorously bobs his head up and down to the hip-hop song playing on the radio.

  “I have no idea.”

  -----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------

  Now this is a change of scenery, I mutter under my breath from the front passenger seat as the police cruiser jets down the street. It’s definitely a different look.

  “Say something, Mr. Myers?” asks the stern-faced officer.

  “Nah,” I say, glancing over at the emotionless lawman. He looks to be about fifty, hard chin, that same generic haircut every patrolman has in the movies.

  I try to shake the anger brewing inside, taking a few deep breaths. Looking over my shoulder, I see the mild-mannered Mr. Sanderlin, cleaning his glasses. Slowly, I do a double take trying to catch a view of the blackness or any other abnormal signs. Nothing. What am I doing? Pencil-neck sits in the back humming some country tune as he looks out the window.

  “You alright, Mr. Myers?”

  I give up. Slouching in the front seat, I finally say, “Yeah, I’m fine, Officer.”

  With the ride lengthening, I wonder what precinct we’re headed to. We passed the closest one, East, nearly three blocks back. I try to remain patient but the incessant humming of this clown in the back is driving me insane. The detached officer doesn’t seem to mind. Go figure. I check the time as my thoughts drift to Christina and Alicia.

  “Hey officer? How long do you think this will take? I really would li—”

  The policeman slows the cruiser, finally coming to a stop on the side of the road. He places the car in park, opens his door, and steps out.

  Am I missing something? Confused, I stare out the window. There’s no precinct in sight. Suddenly, the back door opens. The glass plate separating the front from the back, obstructs my view.

  “Get out,” commands a voice. The perv, steps from the car. The same voice murmurs a word in an unfamiliar language.

  “Koon-cha”

  “Koon-cha,” repeats another. Must be Sanderlin. Not sure what language they’re speaking. I strain my neck to get a better look. I can hear Sanderlin’s footsteps as he distances himself from the cruiser. Moments later, the policeman returns to the car.

  “Wait a minute,” I say. “I know you didn’t just let that guy walk scot-free?

  Tell me you—”

  The car buckles as the officer slams on the gas. “Hey! What are you doing?” Still, he says nothing. His accelerating speed makes me uncomfortable. “Hey man! I asked you a question!”

  No response. I stare the officer down hoping for any rise in the soundless driver. As my eyes cut through the patrolman’s flesh, something catches my attention. A small tattooed symbol seems to almost stand on his wrist.

  Smoke-like vapor rises from the Policeman’s skin. Its color reflects the navy hue of his uniform. Like steam, it hovers around his torso, slowly swirling about. I watch the life-like substance in amazement.

  “Can’t be …”

  My heartbeat accelerates. Adrenaline pumps through my veins once more. I look down at my fingers, flexing them. Power pulsates through my nerves. My body prepares … but for what?

  “AAHHSSSP!”

  The Policeman lunges for my throat. His strength is superhuman. I gasp trying to free myself of the vicious hold. The car swerves as the shadowy substance recollects itself around the disturbed officer. I reach for the door but it’s locked. The Policeman attempts to choke me out but I finally fight him off with an elbow to the head. Using my shoulder, I ram the car door. It bursts open, and I jump from the speeding car head first, my body tumbling down the street.

  Twenty yards up, the squad car comes to a stop. The angered Policeman snarls as his haze-engulfed body emerges from the car. Too late. I make my way through a blocked-off industrialized perimeter. I don’t know how, but my body tells me to leap, so I do, with supernatural ability, over a 15-foot wall, never looking back.

  -----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------

  “Looks like your acquaintance is doing alright for herself,” mocks Gloria as we enter a five-star hotel located in the heart of the city.

  “Haha,”
I say, sarcastically. She’s had jokes the whole ride here. “Looks that way.”

  This girl’s different. She hasn’t once mentioned who I was. I mean come on, she’s had to at least heard of Tre “TNT” Turner. Most chicks go crazy about the Mercedes but she seemed turned off by it. Again, she’s nowhere near my type, but having a girl my age not throw herself at a young millionaire is quite … different.

  We take the elevator up to the top floor, the twenty-first. Only two doors representing two enormous penthouses cover the entire level.

  “You wanna knock?” I whisper.

  “What? She’s your friend. You knock.”

  “Like I said, acquaintance. As a matter of fact, I—”

  The door opens. “Tre Turner. Welcome. Come in.”

  “Uhh … Prophetess?”

  “Call me Anna.”

  This woman seems only similar to the mysterious figure I’ve encountered over the past couple of weeks. They share similar features, but this particular woman looks … normal. Her usual formal attire is now replaced by a University of Memphis pull-over. Her hair has the same grayish tone, although pinned up into a tightly squeezed bun. The unusual accent and ‘Old English’ idioms have been replaced with a southern drawl. Same age group, though. Late fifties, early sixties. Nah, come on. This is a joke right?

  “And who’s your beautiful friend?” she asks.

  “I’m Gloria,” she blushes, in the oversized sweater I let her borrow.

  “Gloria. What a beautiful name. Well don’t you two just stand there. Come on in!”

  The now seemingly ordinary woman’s suite is the size of most people’s houses. With three large bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, a large den, kitchen, and balcony, it was definitely built with the elite in mind. Reminds me of something I might own.

  Looks as if she’s been here quite some time, her eclectic effects all over the large living space. Vases, figurines, statues, and relics from all over the world. Not the fake airport ones either, these things look pricey.

  Gloria and I take a seat on an elegant mahogany-lined sofa. Our host, now going by the name of Anna, sets a tray of lemonade and sugar cookies in front of us. Gloria and I take a look at each other before scrutinizing the almost suspicious treats. The woman takes a seat on another sofa across from us.

  “So, what brings you children here?”

  I start. “Well, you remember earlier how you said, ‘as things continue to manifest’?”

  The Prophetess—uhh Anna—or whoever she is, pours lemonade. “But of course. Your brother has just passed and I know that can be a trying time.”

  I scoot to the edge of my seat. “Yeah, but HOW did you know about my brother?”

  “Why, I read it in the paper. You were pretty well known for college football around here, weren’t you?” The newly energetic woman points to her sweater. “Go Tigers! More lemonade?”

  Sitting, my mouth open, I’m not sure what to make of all this. Not waiting for a response about her precious lemonade, the woman sets off for the kitchen.

  “I thought you said she could help us?” whispers Gloria.

  “I don’t get it. Earlier, she was finishing my sentences and acting as if she’s known me my entire life, almost like she was reading my mind.”

  “Yeah, and now she’s serving milk and cookies.” Gloria rolls her eyes. “See I knew—”

  “Just hold on a minute, okay?” Standing, I make one more attempt at reaching out to the woman I met earlier. “Hey, uhh excuse me, Prophetess?”

  “Oh where’d ya get that silly name from,” says the woman, returning from the kitchen with another tray. “Just call me Anna.”

  My patience wanes. “Where’d I get that silly name from? I got it from you! From the card I took after you gave me that long Jedi-Knight pep talk! Now tell me what’s going on! You follow me around, tell me all this stuff about myself. You’ve finally got my attention and now you act like you don’t know what I’m talking about?! Feeding us cookies and sour lemonade …”

  “I’m sorry, Tre. Guess I’m just an old lonely alumnus who loves University football. And when I heard your brother passed, I just wanted to reach out to you. You are the school’s all-time leading rusher, after all.

  I’ve heard enough. “You know what—” My phone rings, interrupting my vocal onslaught. Boy, she better be glad. I answer the unknown number. “Yeah, Tre Turner.”

  “Yo, Tre. What’s up bro?” speaks an unrecognizable voice.

  “Yeah, who’s this?”

  “It’s Zeek.”

  “Zeek?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey everything alright down at the station?”

  “Yeah … about that … did you guys go see that friend of yours?’

  “Yeah, but sorry man. Looks like—”

  “—tell him it is NOT a dead end. He is the remaining portion we tarry for and he must come now. Your efforts are not in vain, William Turner, III.”

  I shake my head as the woman ends her performance by finishing my sentence in her normal unusual accent. Expelling a laugh of relief, I resume in answering Zeek’s question. “On second thoughts man, let me give you directions.”

  Chapter 15

  The mysterious Anna emerges from a back bedroom just as a knock is heard at the door. Her new outfit seems to be more in line with the extravagant attire earlier witnessed by Tre. “See, I told you,” he smirks as she walks by to open the door. An Asian inspired floral pant and smock drapes the woman’s petite, yet sturdy frame. Long satin-like, silver colored hair glides down her back. Her change in appearance is truly astounding. There’s a regal temperament to her now.

  “So, you must be Zeek. Welcome. I am Anna.”

  A grungy Zeek hesitates in shaking Anna’s hand. He wipes his palms on his jeans before lightly cupping her right hand.

  “Come in.”

  Zeek moves slowly until he catches a glimpse of me and Tre. I wave, hoping to lower his guard.

  “And I think you have met the others, Tre and Gloria.”

  “Yeah, we definitely met,” says Zeek.

  “Good. Would you like a cookie? Lemonade?”

  “Enough with the cookies and lemonade,” barks an irritated Tre.

  “Yeah, I have to agree,” I say. “You were playing dumb, weren’t you?”

  Anna smiles. “Not exactly, my child. I was merely waiting for the third of three to present themselves.”

  “The third of three?”

  “Yes. There has to be three.”

  “Hunh? Three what? Tre asks.

  “My children, let me ask you a question. Do you believe in God?”

  Tre and I nod.

  “And you Zeek?”

  Zeek lowers his head. “Not sure what I believe. I’ve seen a lot lately.”

  “What about demons?” Anna continues.

  Zeek perks up. “Now there’s definitely some of them floating around.”

  Anna moves in closer. “Well, if you believe in demons, you must believe in God.”

  My mouth drops. “Wow.” Guess I’d never thought of it like that.

  “What if I told you a war has raged since Creation?” she asks. “Although the outcome has been decided, the war continues. This is the way. What if I told you, you Three have been chosen to wage battle in this warfare?”

  “War?” Tre asks. “Hey, I’m not looking to enlist. Besides, I don’t see no guns or ammunition hiding under this couch.”

  “This is a different kind of war, Tre,” says Anna. “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers not of this world.”

  “Okay,” I say. “So, what do we use?”

  “Your Gifts.”

  “Gifts?”

  “Yes, my child.” Anna walks towards me, taking my hand. “Etes-vous sur que vous voulez savoir?”

  Before my thoughts can even gather, my mouth answers back in French. “Oui. S’il vous plait dites-moi.”

  “And have you ever been to France, my ch
ild?”

  “Why … no. All this just started last week.”

  “Not only can you speak and interpret any language known to man, your ears can pick out a single voice in a crowd of thousands or hear a single whisper a mile away.

  “Cool,” I smile … briefly. “I think …”

  Of course Tre has to butt in. “No doubt? Okay, so what about me?”

  “Tre, you have the Gift of healing. Your body can immediately repair itself from nearly any infirmity. Broken bones, flesh wounds, sickness …”

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” he gloats. “I’m like the black Wolverine!”

  “I’m sorry?” Anna frowns.

  “Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “Go on, please.”

  “Tre, not only can you heal yourself. You can heal others as well, with just one touch to their infirmity. You have the potential to save a lot of people, Tre Turner.”

  Tre’s smile fades as if a thought envelopes him.

  “So, what about the other things we’ve experienced?” I ask. “All of this strength, quickness, agility? I mean, I’ve done some things I’ve only seen on television.”

  “You are familiar with the Bible, correct?” Anna asks.

  “Yeah?”

  “The Bible speaks of a few chosen, possessing abnormal strength for periods of time, small armies being able to defeat enemies ten—twenty times their size. People speaking languages foreign to them, many being healed of various diseases, some being able to see glimpses of the future.”

  “So pretty much … miracles?”

  “But of course, my child. A miracle is no more than an interruption, a suspension in the laws that govern this world, physically, mentally, logically. Everything that has been written about can still happen today, even raising the dead.”

  “What a minute,” says Tre. “Did you say raising the dead?”

  “Yes, my child. But these Gifts are not for show or personal gain. They are for war.”

  Zeek finally speaks up. “And just who does this war concern?”

  Anna walks towards a large window, peering through open curtains.