The Assigned

by A. D. Smith

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” says Tre. I agree. It’s worse than yesterday and now it’s almost been 24 hours without any real food.

  “Focus!” yells Anna.

  “Anyone got some peanuts, M & M’s, a cracker, piece of lint?!” cracks Tre.

  “Tre you must—” Anna’s eyes gloss over to white. The unusual woman goes into a trance-like state. So that’s what I look like.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Gloria asks.

  “She’s having a vision,” I answer.

  “Is that what it’s like, Zeek?”

  “Something like that.”

  Anna gasps as she comes too. “AIM!” she yells, now out of her trance.

  “What is it Anna?”

  “Gloria, I see an army. Hordes of people in line as they willingly give themselves to Bale’s rule. And the word, AIM.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I am not certain, my child. See if you can find any information on Bale’s latest acquisitions, his mergers, anything.”

  “No problem, but I may need to get on the computer, make some calls for a couple of hours.”

  “That is fine my child. Besides, I must rest. Perhaps more shall be revealed to me if I gather my strength. We shall resume at sundown.” Anna retires to her room.

  “Man, she didn’t look so good,” says Tre.

  “Yeah, looks like those visions are starting to take a toll on her,” I say. “Not sure if I wanna go through that.”

  Gloria throws in her two cents. “Just do what you’re supposed to and you’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, yeah. And why don’t you get on your task, computer girl.”

  “Don’t worry. I always do.”

  Gloria and Tre spend the next couple of hours stationed in front of the laptop. The two act like high-school freshmen, giggling and playfully hitting one another. Can’t say I saw that one coming. Didn’t think Mr. Celebrity would go for someone like Gloria, but what do I know? Maybe he’s actually changing. Just hope it doesn’t jeopardize our work. But who am I to talk. I don’t even know how I fit in all this. One day, I don’t even believe in God. The next, I’m his super soldier.

  I pass the time mostly daydreaming about food or checking on Chrissy and Alicia. The latter asks a lot of questions to which I don’t know how to answer. She ends the conversation by saying “I miss you,” to which I definitely don’t know how to answer. Of course I miss them, but her voice says more than I’m willing to convey. She’s my wife’s sister for heaven’s sake. I don’t care if it’s been four years or forty. I read in the Bible somewhere about men marrying their deceased brother’s wives to keep the lineage going. Not sure that applies in this instance.

  Gloria ushers everyone to the computer desk as Anna is awakened from her nap.

  “So what you got for us, computer girl?”

  “Okay, check this out.” Gloria pulls images up on the screen. “Bale was being way too secretive about his huge announcement. So of course, every media outlet was trying to get the scoop on the big deal. I made some calls down to the station, which says I’m fired if I don’t come in this weekend.”

  “Join the club,” I smirk.

  “Yeah … right. Anyways, after a little investigation, one of my co-worker’s friends, who works for CNN, found a patent submission and FCC request for a new imploration of technology submitted by one of Bale’s subsidiaries, Lab Tech.”

  “Whoa, you’re losing me.”

  “I’m getting there,” Gloria says, pulling up more images. “Bale had to get his big announcement approved seeing it deals with implementing a new way to use experimental technology. How he got it approved so fast, I’m not sure. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a Persuaded or two camped out in the FCC office.”

  “But of course,” says Anna.

  “Right. And this is what he plans to unveil.”

  A futuristic inscription of the acronym, A.I.M. flashes across the computer.

  “Aim?”

  “It stands for Analysis Identification Marker. Now check this out.”

  Gloria clicks the mouse.

  “That’s the Mark!”

  A computer drawn version of the Mark is brought up. Gloria nods. “That’s also their logo. It says the Analysis Identification Marker will forever change the way we exchange information. Soon driver licenses, credit cards, passports, all tangible pieces of identification will be obsolete.”

  “Bale is going to hide his Mark in broad daylight,” Anna exhales.

  “I’m still not there.”

  Anna separates herself from us as she paces around the room. “I’m sure you’ve all heard of 666, the Mark of the Beast. The book of Revelation says, ‘and he forced everyone, both small and great, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on his right hand, so no one could buy or sell unless he had the mark.’”

  “So that tattoo we’ve seen on the Persuaded. That’s the 666, the Mark of the Beast?”

  “Not quite, my child. Bale’s mark is different from that of which the Scriptures speak. That mark is the mark of his father, Lucifer. Bale will not force anyone to bear his. People will naturally be drawn to his status.”

  “Got it,” says Tre.

  “Yes, my child! His influence and gift of persuasion far exceed any physical display of power. The people will flock to him. And what he desires most is to be God. To have the people serve him of their own free will.”

  Finally, I get it as well. “Wow. So that’s what this whole hiring spree’s about. Give the people jobs, put the Mark on ‘em, build an army.”

  “And there’s no telling how many people they’ll come in contact with and influence,” says Gloria.

  “Yeah, and in this economy, people will do just about anything to get a job,” says Tre. “Even sell their souls.”

  The look on my face conveys reluctant agreement. Tre continues. “You’re talking about a couple of years and thousands of Persuaded running around.”

  “Hundreds of thousands,” Anna interjects. “Maybe more.”

  “Dang. So how do we stop it?”

  “We must get the people to see Bale for what he really is,” says Anna.

  “And how do you suppose we get people to see black, ghost-like shadows floating around?” I question. “I barely believe it myself.”

  “Not so much the supernatural, my child. The enemy’s main power is persuasion. He preys on the weak and confused. We must get them to see that Bale wants to use them even if it’s just a physical revelation.”

  “We need some dirt on the great Jason Bale,” says Tre. “I mean other than the fact he’s a demon and all …”

  “Hey guys, check this out!” Gloria, still seated at the computer, pulls up a local newspaper article. We reassemble around the 12-inch screen. “Zeek, Tre. Remember this guy?”

  “Hey, that’s the guy from the club that got rowdy with Bale.”

  I faintly remember his face. “Yeah, didn’t he splash holy water on Bale or something?”

  Anna steps closer to the screen. “Harold?” she asks.

  “You know this guy?”

  A picture of the now deceased man is placed next to a link to an article. The link reads: Local theology professor, Dr. Harold Ambrose, found dead. Foul play suspected.

  “Yes,” says Anna. “He was an old acquaintance. Once, a member of the Intercessors.”

  “Keepers of our story right?” Gloria asks.

  “Yes, but Harold’s quest for knowledge consumed him. The more he discovered, the further he withdrew from society. He grew tired of waiting for the Three of Three to return. He began to try and confront the enemy on his own. If only he tarried for a while longer.”

  Tre shakes his head. “We were right there when Bale’s men got to him.”

  “Maybe we can use this against Bale,” says Gloria.

  “My child, I am beginning to see your path,” nods Anna.

  We spend the next few hours discussing tactics for confronting the untouchable
, Jason Bale. Anna hammers across the point about sticking together as a team. She seems determined not to let us meet the same fate as her generation. But if they didn’t succeed, how can she be so certain we can?

  “Now children, it is my desire that you approach Gloria’s plan from a non-confrontational stance, using Bale’s propaganda against him. But as you have already witnessed, physical engagement is sometimes necessary. If the enemy confronts you, fight as one. Think not that you can do it alone because of your incredible Gifts. The Three are not better than one. The Three are one.”

  The eccentric woman the others call Prophetess, continues her battle prelude as she marches around us. “Now, as you hath experienced, each of you possess abnormal levels of strength, stamina, and agility. Warfare methodology has even been imputed into each of your DNA for such a time as this. Now you must learn how to harness this power into one simple maneuver that temporarily disables the enemy.” Her eyes find Gloria. “Especially those whom can be won back. The Rebuke.” Anna stands beside Tre. “I think you may remember, my child.”

  “Oh, you mean when you threw me across the room?” Tre smiles. “So that’s what it’s called. The Rebuke?” Anna nods. “That’s kind of cool though,” Tre continues. “Sounds like an old-school wrestling move. The Rebuke.”

  “I’m glad you favor it, my child. I was hoping you would once more help me demonstrate.”

  “Sure—wait!” Tre steps back. Now this is actually funny.

  “You mean, you wanna throw me back across the room?”

  “C’mon Tre,” I say, egging him on. “You won’t feel a thing.”

  “You do have the Gift of Healing, my child.”

  “Yeah, you guys need to learn this, Tre,” grins Gloria.

  “Fine,” Tre sighs. “Just hurry up and—”

  Without warning, Anna gently thumps Tre with her fingertips. He flies twelve feet before crashing to the ground. Gloria and I do our best not to laugh. Laugh loud, that is.

  The training exercises continue past midnight. Hunger and fatigue set in as we exhaust our physical, mental, and as Anna says, our spiritual reserves. But the more I try to dive in this thing head-first without over-thinking it, the more power I feel. Some of the stuff she’s teaching us really does work.

  ***

  Ahhhh, the last morning for lemon-in-a-cup. But at this juncture, I’d drink anything. Surprisingly, everyone is kind of hyper today. Guess our bodies are finally getting used to the lack of food. The day before was consumed with several intense hours of training and some new meditation drills. Not sure if I’ve lost any weight but my pores feel opened up, eyes are whiter. Come to think of it, I haven’t had a cigarette since … the day. I’m still not sure of everything, this life-changing experience, this new revelation of God, of demons. But I’d be lying if I said meeting Anna and the others hadn’t changed my life … for the better.

  “So what you got for us today, Prophetess?” asks a bouncing Tre.

  “There are no training exercises this morning,” says Anna. “My children, you have done well.”

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” says Tre, high-fiving me and Gloria.

  “Although there is one more task you must complete.”

  “But I thought you said—”

  “This task is not a training exercise, nor can I instruct it.”

  “What is it Anna?” asks Gloria.

  “Each of you has faced turmoil and tragedy,” starts the Prophetess. “Although you have survived your personal storms, debris still lingers. As I have stated before, some of you have not forgiven others. Some of you have not forgiven yourselves, maybe even God. You must make peace with whatever unresolved issues are in your life. Just like a physical impairment, the enemy will use this against you. Take this day to free yourself of any bondage that currently encases your heart.”

  No words are needed. We each know all too well the rubble that remains in our lives.

  Chapter 23

  I haven’t been to church in weeks. Prophetess Anna’s words run through my mind as I pull up to the gothic building. Make peace. And that’s what I’ve come to do, though part of me is afraid of what I may find out. If I can jump off buildings and fight superhuman tax collectors, surely I can handle a talk with my … father.

  Adrenaline courses through me, although not the feeling I get when a fight is imminent. This feels more like the sensation I got as a child when I knew I was about to get in trouble, although this time I can’t have possibly done anything wrong. Okay, take a deep breath. You can do this.

  The smell of the hundred-year-old building brings back memories. Looks like nothing’s changed. What am I thinking? I haven’t been gone that long. But considering I’ve spent half of my life here, the time away does seem like an eternity. I walk past a couple of the classrooms. They’ll be full in a few hours. After-school care, tutoring, the art class I used to teach. I wonder who’s been filling in.

  “I didn’t fully grasp how much you did around here until you were gone,” says a familiar voice. “How did you keep all of this together?”

  I turn to see Deacon Nichols’ tall, slender frame. He’s cut his hair since the last time I’ve seen him. “Not sure. Guess I never had the time to actually think about it. I just did.”

  “Well, you did great.”

  “Thanks. How has everything been? I know I haven’t—”

  “It’s okay. We’ve managed. I told everybody you were taking a leave to help with your mother.”

  “Isn’t that kind of bordering the truth?”

  “Well …” smiles the Deacon. “… I figured there were some things you guys needed to work on.”

  “Yeah, but she’s not the only one, Deacon.”

  “Call me David.” I’ve never heard anyone call the Deacon by his first name, let alone spoke it myself. “And you’re right,” he says. “But she is your mother, first and foremost.”

  “You almost say that like—like the rest doesn’t matter.” For some reason, these words in particular strike a chord with the Deacon—David. His eyes water, but surely he’s not about to cry? Fumbling with his hands, he looks around, now drawing closer. Words burst from his mouth. “I called you—I came by, your mother wouldn’t open the door–”

  “Did you know?” are the only words I can get out. Deacon Nichols takes his time speaking. At first, it reminds me of that night. But something’s different. “Gloria,” he starts. “I had no idea you were mine. You have to believe me.”

  I discern honesty in his words. Not sure if it’s due to my training or just something in my heart, but the words are true. He awaits my response. “I believe you.”

  “Oh Gloria, if I knew I had a child, I would have never walked away from my responsibility.”

  “It’s okay Deacon. I believe you.”

  “David.”

  “David, I believe you. A’ma used me to get back at you.”

  “I never intended to hurt your mother. She was a beautiful woman, much like the one that stands before me now. But I was conflicted with whether I should become a priest. Your mother couldn’t understand what I was going through, so she left me. I thought she had moved on with someone else.”

  “I never knew why she would drop me off at this church, religiously, every Sunday. But I guess in her own, twisted way, she wanted me to know my father.” Tears run down as I look up at the tall, slender man. “And I did just that. I got to know a wonderful man.” Fiddling with his fingers, his height is shortened as he hunches over. This time I step closer. “I don’t blame you or A’ma. We can’t agonize over the past. We have to move forward. There’s so much work to be done. To have you in my life in any capacity is a blessing.”

  Deacon Nichols raises his head. “You are something else. What have you been doing the last few weeks?”

  “Learning how to fight for the ones I love.”

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

  Today’s grayish outcast is a perfect replica of the 80
7’s exterior as it finally arrives to its stop. No chopper today. I opt for public transportation, seeing that I’m carrying precious cargo. Christina. “Hold Daddy’s hand,” I smile as the sliding doors of the bus swing open.

  “Daddy, am I sick again?” Chrissy asks as she sees the familiar sight. Her words nearly sadden me. Not sure if she or I will ever look at a hospital any differently.

  “No baby. Of course not. We’re just here to see an old friend.”

  Everyone’s face at St. Jude lights up as they watch a healthy, smiling Christina skip by. Nurses and crew approach as they marvel at the sight of my precious daughter. Like most children, Christina loves the attention. Alicia took extra time fixing her hair. My baby girl wears a blue dress and white patent leather shoes. Thankfully, Alicia dressed her too. I probably wouldn’t have picked such an elaborate outfit. Mine, of course, is the usual. Jeans and t-shirt, albeit clean, accompanied by my favorite black leather jacket.

  I too approach several nurses and thank them for their assistance with Christina. Some seem hesitant at first to shake my hand. Guess I wasn’t the easiest person to work with. Vivid memories come to mind as we walk by several of the rooms in the children’s ward. Christina and I observe children affected by cancer and other diseases. Some of their heads are shaved. Others sleep as tubes protrude from their small fragile bodies. As we pass room 413, emotions spring up. I can’t help but to peek into the deathly cold room, a major part of our lives just a few short weeks ago. Now another child rests in the bed recently occupied by Christina. And another parent sleeps in the chair seated next to the bed. A well known voice adds to the surreal moment. “And what do we have here?”

  “Chappy Brynint!” yells Christina as only she can. She runs into the arms of the waiting Chaplain Bryant. “My goodness, look how big you’ve gotten! How old are you now, ten?”

  “No Chappy,” laughs my tickled child. “I’m five!”

  “Wow! Well go say hi to your old friends. They’ve missed you.”

  Christina runs off to play with the other kids. Although fully dressed and healthy, she doesn’t seem to notice the state of the sick children. They don’t see condition or illness. Only friendship.