by A. D. Smith
“Five minutes.”
“Of course. See you soon.”
The quicker I get this guy and his goons away from my apartment, the better. With no immediate threat in sight, I let Alicia know it’s okay to get off the ground. “What’s going on, Zeek?” she asks.
“I’ll tell you about it all later. Just know everything’s okay.”
“I wanna go Daddy,” says Christina while playfully hopping on one foot.
“Not this time baby,” I respond before gently kissing her forehead.
“Daddy, can I ride my horsey again?”
I look around the room at all the things Christina didn’t have before yesterday as I finally concede, “Sure baby, you can ride the horsey.”
***
Minutes later my hands ball into fists as a driver approaches. “Mr. Myers,” he nods, merely wanting to open the rear door of the white limousine. I look around before hesitantly easing into the crisp-smelling vehicle.
We drive for what seems like an eternity. The clock on my phone confirms about twenty-five minutes. Part of me is tense, not knowing what to expect. The other half is still anxious, but more in the vein of how Christina acts on Christmas Day just before we open presents. Although I wasn’t a believer, I never denied Chrissy the wonder of opening gifts. And now, part of me feels like that—ready to see what’s about to be opened. And that’s the part that scares me.
After a few deliberate wrong turns and repeated circles around the same part of town, we make our way to an old warehouse located on President’s Island. Most of Memphis is located on a bluff and the island is a major spot for factories. Not technically an island, but more of an inlet, the island is usually not frequented by anyone unless they work in the area. A good a spot as any, I guess, for a hideout. Or to hide someone.
The silent driver opens my door before nodding to the entrance. One of Bale’s security detail is positioned out front. Dark-skinned with dreads, I recognize him from the club. We had a good go at it. I wait for my powers, or whatever they are, to flare, but nothing happens. Looks like I’m going in on my own. A sarcastic grin widens across the guard’s face as he mumbles, “Follow me.”
Inside, the dimly-lit storage facility has been emptied out. Doesn’t seem to have been used in years. Bale’s man leads me up a steel staircase. His hand motions me to stop, before leaving me perched on a walkway high above ground level. Must have been used by managers to keep an eye on the workers. Not sure why they would leave me up here. Not a good spot for an ambush, with the view as open as it is. While I wait, several men and a couple of women are escorted in by some of Bale’s men—Angels, I believe he calls them, noticeable by their trademark white suits. The people they accompany separate into two lines. The formation looks almost militarian in nature. Some of them look to be pulled straight from work, still wearing various uniforms. A bus driver, doctor, some guy who looks like he works in a cubicle. Maybe they were ‘softly kidnapped’ like me. Next, a policeman and a thin man with glasses enter.
What the—
Peering down, I now see the policeman is The Policeman! Although a ways off, I’m sure of it. And the thin man with glasses is the same bastard that tried to take my daughter. Part of me wants to jump down right now and beat the crap out of them both, but I’m not sure I’d survive the drop. Even for what I’ve been able to do so far, that’s a bit much. And it doesn’t feel as if I’m getting much help in the form of superhuman powers right now. Looking more closely, the short man in the white lab coat looks familiar as well. I’d bet money he’s a doctor at Christina’s hospital. Who are these people?
Bale’s Angels take their spots behind the group as the man himself makes his entrance. Jason Bale quickly glances up to my exact location and winks. No one else seems to detect my presence as I hide in the shadows of the rafters. Guess he would obviously know my whereabouts, it’s his show. And it hits me just like that. He wants me to watch.
The separated groups of people act as aisles as Bale begins to pace back and forth between them.
“Ministers, I thank you for your time,” he opens. “I know you are busy spreading the gospel of Bale and your diligence is duly noted. I would also like to thank you for your quick response to …” Bale looks my direction while picking his words carefully. “… to our little situation. Rest assured it is being handled.”
“So is it true the Three of Three are back?” asks a man in a suit and tie.
“Hardly,” replies Bale. “Just a cheap replica. Do not concern yourself with them. Our ministry shall go on as planned.”
“I saw one of them,” says the doctor. “He could … heal.” His voice ignites my memory. The doctor I bumped into in the hospital bathroom. And come to think about it, he had the Mark tattooed on his wrist. But why does Bale want me to see this? It makes no sense. He can’t possibly think that letting me sit in one of his meetings would make me want to join his exaggerated book club.
“Yes, Dr. Echols,” continues Bale. “They have some powers. But you have my power. Nothing compares to that. And so that brings me to why we are gathered here. You all have been decreed with great responsibility. To spread the gospel of Bale. And for that purpose and that purpose alone, I endow you with powers beyond your wildest dreams. Am I not gracious?”
The men and women loudly praise Bale before he quiets them. “It has come to my attention that one of our brothers has used his power in a manner unbefitting of a minister.” Bale slows his pace, stopping in front of the same bifocal-wearing savage that tried to abduct Christina. “What is your single purpose?” Bale asks the unassuming man.
“To uhh …” I can hear him gulp as he tries to finish. “To spread the gospel of Bale.”
“I can’t hear you!”
“To spread the gospel of Bale, my Lord!”
Bale clinches his teeth. “To spread the gospel of Bale … exactly.” His face loosens as he resumes his pacing. “Thank you minister. You all are my ministers and your single purpose is to spread the gospel of Bale. To venture into every aspect of society and recruit for my ministry. To show them another way. And for carrying out this duty, do I not give you the desires of your heart? Do I not afford you abilities you never thought possible? And how do you use these gifts?” Bale once again stops in front of the balding, thin man. “To aid in pleasing your sick, twisted flesh?” The others distance themselves from their nervous colleague. “You endanger our global ministry, and for what?!” To satisfy your sickening cravings! Give me your wrist.”
The shaking subordinate snivels out words. “My Lord, I’m sorry. I couldn’t control myself.”
“That won’t be a problem after today. Now give me your wrist!”
The man reluctantly holds out his arm, the Mark tattooed on his right wrist.
Jason Bale extends his hand. Black, smoke-like vapor emits from his index finger, swirling around the man’s wrist. Like a lasso, the blackness tightens its grip around his wrist as it appears squeezed. He grunts as his circulation is severed. Another vein of mist seeps from Bale’s middle finger, seeming to pierce through the man’s skin. The Shadow takes the form of a scalpel as it begins to physically remove the tattooed Mark, skin and all, from the screaming man’s arm. The others, as well as myself, grimace as a sizzling sound is heard while the Shadow continues to tear through the man’s arm. “You do not deserve to wear the Mark of Bale!” yells Bale as the Shadow swirls around the enraged actor. Actually, that term doesn’t describe Bale anymore … whoever he is. A grotesque scowl covers his face. The piece of tattoo-covered skin falls to the ground as Bale grabs his weakened follower by the neck. Black veins surface in the man’s paled face. “Now return what I have given you!” The man gasps for air as the Shadow emits from his profile. As if sucked through a vacuum, the haze is consumed by the even larger Shadow of Bale. The dying man ages before our eyes as he struggles for air one last time. Lifeless, his head bows over as Bale releases his hold. “Do you not understand what I am trying to give you?” An emotiona
l Bale asks as he pats his tussled hair. “What I want to give the world? I want to show them another way!”
As his guards remove the man’s body, I’m not sure what to feel. This is what I wanted, right? For the wicked man who wanted to do god-knows-what-to my child—to suffer the most horrible death possible. Even if he suffered this at the hands of my enemy? Isn’t the enemy of my enemy my friend? And why do I refer to Bale as my enemy? I don’t trust him, but he could’ve made a move on me already. There’s so much I don’t understand.
Bale addresses his remaining ministers. “My father and my father’s father have waged war against one another for Millennia. And for what? Their conflict is pointless. Neither wants to completely destroy the other. But I ask … why does there only have to be TWO choices?”
A look of confidence swells over Bale’s face. “But I, Bale, come to the people as an independent candidate. My father’s way was wrong. No longer will we creep and hide. I will openly show this world the power that is rightfully theirs.”
One of Bale’s men approaches. “My Lord, we should be leaving if we’re going to catch our flight.”
“Ministers, you have your instructions,” continues Bale. “Now leave me.” Not wanting to be the next example, the various men and women quickly exit. Bale looks up and turns his attentions to me.
“So tell me, Mr. Myers. What did you think?”
“Think? I think you just killed a man.”
“Yes,” Bale chuckles. “But is that not what you wanted?”
“I didn’t ask you to do me any favors.”
“True. But I wanted you to see, with your own eyes. Everything you’ve heard about me is not true.”
“Well I haven’t heard much. You give yourself way too much credit.”
He laughs. “I like you, Zeek. A man like you would be very useful to my ministry.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll pass.”
“Why? Because of what the old woman has told you? Because of the little taste of power you’ve experienced? Come. Let me show you true power. A power you could only dream about. Let me show you another way.”
“Like I said, I’m good. But thanks for—”
“—for destroying your enemy …”
“… for the offer. Now am I free to go?”
“But of course, Zeek. And you don’t have to admit it now, but I know there’s something in you that wants to know more. How long will you allow the Other to string you alone? There is a revolution happening. Now whether you’re a part of it or not is up to you, but trust me, the people have spoken. I will reveal to them the true power.”
Bale’s Shadow swirls around him like flames.
“They will freely wear my Mark. In fact … they will beg for it …”
Chapter 20
The unexpected aroma of bacon causes me to reexamine the apartment number on the front door. Spicy bacon, to be more exact. It smells like my mother’s special recipe. She made it often during my childhood but I haven’t smelled the strong, peppery odor in years.
Setting my keys down on the table, it looks as if it’s been polished.
“A’ma, where are you?” I ask cautiously.
“In the kitchen, my love,” hums a cheerful voice.
Neither the words nor tone belong to the woman I left home a couple of days ago. It’s her voice alright, but that’s not A’ma. Can’t be. I slowly creep to the kitchen, not sure what or who I’ll find.
“A’ma?”
“Hi sweetie, I’m making your favorite …”
I nearly stumble at the sight my eyes uncover. Standing before me is a fully dressed woman that resembles my mother. Her hair is curled, make-up applied, posture erect. “A’ma, you look so … pretty,” are the first words that come to mind. Well, because she does. “… and young.” I’d almost forgotten what my mother looks like, so many years hidden behind tattered nightgowns, pills, and vodka bottles.
“Thank you, Mija,” says the now attractive forty-something.
The stove is filled with breakfast delicatessens. “I feel great,” smiles A’ma as she pours pancake batter. The cooking, the clothes, the warm words, it’s almost too much. But I dare not let go of this moment. Who knows when or if I’ll ever get it back?
“Well are you ready to eat, sweetie?”
“I’m starving, A’ma,” I say, sounding like a little child. Kind of feel like one too. “A’ma, I know I haven’t been around much lately, but all that’s going to change.”
“It’s okay, Mija,” she says. A name she’s used ever since my childhood. “We’ve been through a lot. I want to tell you how sorry I am for holding things from you. I just didn’t want you to hurt the way I hurt … the way he hurt me.”
“So the Deacon, he knew right?” I casually ask while biting into a piece of steaming sausage. “I mean he knew he was my dad?”
“Of course darling. He left us, Gloria, don’t you see?”
I don’t want to argue. Things are too good now. “Yes A’ma.”
“Besides, it’s a new day,” A’ma says as she stacks more pancakes onto my plate. “New opportunities.”
“You’re right A’ma. I’m glad you’re better. I’ve been praying for you.”
“Hmph,” she grins. “Well all that matters is that I’m here and I’m ready to be your mother again. No more taking care of me.” A’ma kisses me on the cheek, and my face can’t help but beam as I bite down into the endless stack of pancakes. What I would give to stay at this table forever.
“So it’s just you and me now, right sweetie?” she asks.
“Um hmmm,” I nod, my mouth filled with homemade biscuits covered in honey butter.
“Good,” says A’ma finally biting into the meal she’s prepared. “You don’t need those new friends of yours anyway.”
“Whada you talking about, A’ma?”
“Those nice young men told me about those crazies you were hanging out with. You don’t need them anymore. You have your A’ma back.”
My fork drops as I force down the remaining food in my mouth with one swallow. “What young men, A’ma?”
“Oh the nicest young men came by,” she says unaffected. Finally, A’ma looks up, chewing as she speaks. “They showed me another way Gloria … and I can show you.”
As I hear the familiar words, my body nearly goes limp. I jump from the table, distancing myself from my … mother. Emotion rings from my voice. “What are you talking about A’ma?”
“Everything is okay now, my little Mija. Trust your mother.”
And then it starts. Smoke-colored mist ascends from A’ma’s body. “No,” I cry. The price paid for the previous moment is unbearable. My mother stands before me as one of them.
“Don’t cry Gloria,” she says, now standing. “I can make it better. I promise.”
“A’ma! Why! You don’t know what you’ve done!”
“Shhh, it’s okay. Now come, Mija.”
As A’ma moves closer, the Shadow radiates around her body. “Stay back!” I shout, but the life-like substance glides through her skin, continuing its seduction. My senses flare as my heart accelerates. Adrenaline fills my veins. I too can feel power surging through my body. Power I don’t want to use on my demon-influenced mother. But I have to do something …
Rebuke.
My earlier lesson with the Prophetess comes to mind. Subduing one without causing severe bodily harm. But where is the line drawn? I haven’t had time to master the move. Besides, my emotions flood any logical thoughts.
“Let me show you another way,” A’ma repeats, her voice changing by the second. I haven’t much time to think either, as the Shadow tightens its grip around my deceived mother. Impatiently, my body waits. Allow my mother to make the first move, physically bring it to her like she’s one of Bale’s men, or try the Rebuke. I have no choice.
“ARRRHHH!”
A war cry roars from my belly as I run straight for A’ma. A demented vapory scowl leaps fr
om her as I advance but it’s not enough to hinder me. I stop just short of full-on contact with A’ma, my fingertips barely grazing her abdomen. The light touch throws her ten feet back before A’ma falls violently to the floor.
My God, what have I done! I can barely look her way as tears pour down the same cheek kissed by that other woman just moments ago. My eyes closed, I cry to myself, not wanting to see the damage inflicted to A’ma. A familiar voice forces them open.
“Why am I on this floor, Gloria? And why am I wearing this dreadful skirt and is this—is this makeup? Is this your doing, Gloria? You know I despise anything touching my face! Is this how you treat your flesh and blood?”
Although wearing the same new clothes, A’ma’s countenance has definitely changed. She looks like the old A’ma. And her rant is increasingly recognizable.
“Esto es ridiculo!”
“Oh, A’ma!” I sob, running to my mother. No, I wouldn’t trade this moment for the world.
-----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------
A silky fog rises from the street, a result of the brief afternoon rain. Surrounding my SUV, it reminds me of the Shadow. But this haze isn’t evil in nature. At least, I hope. “Come on Glo, pick up!” I shout through the phone. She and Zeek have been out of pocket for the last hour. My mind can only wonder as I sit at this prolonged red light.
Sensing someone watching, I slowly turn my head towards the passenger window. Three guys in an old Chevy pick-up stare back. My age or younger, they look like …
Those are Martin’s boys! I vaguely remember them from one of Martin’s brief loan-request visits, although I can’t be too sure. The prior rain fogs the glass. Holding up the peace sign, I yell, “What’s up?!” through the slightly cracked window. The fellas stare back emotionless before finally taking off. Ooookay, I think out loud, pulling off from the light. My path is cut short by a miniature, pink ribbon-wearing terrier standing in the middle of the street. Why do the smallest dogs bark the loudest? Guess he’s got ‘little man’s’ complex. I blow the horn, but the obnoxious dog is determined to hold his ground in the center of the rain-drenched lane.
