Purpose

by Andrew Q. Gordon

  Best not to dwell on what he wanted, he still needed to explain himself to the kid. It might send him running for the door. Then again, he couldn’t convince himself Ryan would leave.

  Someone had made the bed. That someone being Ryan. An odd thing to do if he left for good. On the floor at the foot of the bed, Ryan’s blue bag answered his questions. It looked empty, and Gar found a pile of clothes on top of the dresser. He’d be back.

  Peeling his shirt off, habit took over. With time to kill, he kept to his schedule. He slipped off his jeans but left on the cotton trunks. Normally, he would practice in the nude, but with Ryan coming back at any moment, he grabbed a pair of shorts.

  One of his prior hosts had taken up Tai Chi, hoping its calming affect would offset the agitation It caused. A few practice sessions and Gar became a believer. Often, it required hours of exercise to achieve the needed serenity, but what else did he have to do?

  He dragged the navy blue foam mat from the closet and ran his bare feet over the cool surface to smooth out the bumps. Letting his thoughts drain away, he assumed a starting position.

  With thousands of hosts to draw on, Gar’s memories held dozens of different disciplines, some no longer practiced. Over the centuries, his predecessors had incorporated elements of many into their routine. The combination was devastating when used properly, but he found it magnified the unsettling energy the Purpose created.

  Tai Chi gave him balance and peace, if only for brief moments. Quiet today, the Purpose didn’t need offsetting, and just a few moves brought a wave of calm.

  Gliding through the moves, the heightened connection to his body brought enhanced energy and power. Sweat covered his torso in a light sheen, the result of an hour’s intense exercise. The cooling effect of moisture evaporating from his skin left him tingling.

  Using the mental calm to focus his thoughts, he kept alert for signs of Ryan’s return. Each time the elevator reached his floor, he quickly eliminated the occupants from just their breathing. Midway into his second time through, the footfalls signaled Ryan heading back.

  Still following his routine, he nearly missed the other two people walking close to Ryan. Why was he bringing people back with him? Holding his position, the sound of a lock turning signaled he would have his answer soon enough.

  Ryan pushed open the door, laden with several full-looking shopping bags. Trailing close behind, two men, probably Hispanic, ferried other things into the apartment. One carried several more bags, while the other held a small television box.

  “Will,” Ryan said, sounding a bit surprised. “What are you doing?”

  Why did his real name sound so foreign? Foreign, but welcome. “Tai Chi. It helps calm me.”

  Ryan’s eyes swept up and down Gar’s body. The bemused grin widened into a full smile. When their eyes met, Gar nodded and returned the amused look. He completed the movement, brought his feet together, and moved to inspect Ryan’s purchases.

  “A better question might be what did you do?” Touching the lip of one of the bags, he pushed the edge down. Most of the items were wrapped or in boxes, but the odd cooking utensil answered his curiosity.

  “Buying things for the apartment.” He set two bags on the table, directing the man with the television into the bedroom. “Let me finish with these two and I’ll show you what I bought.”

  The second man added his bags to the table before stepping back. Ryan handed each of them a bill—a twenty, if he wasn’t mistaken—and escorted the pair to the door. Gar used the break to get a hand towel.

  “Damn.” He turned toward the sound of Ryan’s voice. “That was a nice view when I walked in. I didn’t know you practiced in your apartment.”

  “No reason not to. There’s plenty of space.” He ran the towel over his slick chest, rubbing away the beads of sweat.

  Ryan moved closer and took the cotton cloth from Gar’s hand. “You look so hot. I want to run my hands over your hairy chest.”

  Letting Ryan dry him off, Gar gently stroked his guest’s soft hair. “Not until after we talk.”

  “Will.” He stopped rubbing Gar’s chest and looked up. “I know yesterday wasn’t the first time you did something like that. There isn’t much you could tell me that would make me run away.”

  Not much, but there are things. “Let me get changed, and we can go.”

  “Go?”

  He pulled a long-sleeve tee shirt from a stack. “Outside. I’d prefer to go for a walk to talk. If that’s okay.” He slipped it over his head and found Ryan still staring at him.

  “Sure.”

  “You were going to show me what you bought.”

  “Um, yeah, but I’m liking this show better.”

  Smiling despite himself, he removed his shorts. “Nothing you didn’t see and paw over last night.”

  “Yeah, but your ass looks great in those tight trunks.” Ryan raised both eyebrows. “Can’t wait to slip them off you.”

  Ryan’s heartbeat jumped as he walked out. Using the break, Gar quickly stepped into his pants and found a clean pair of socks. He was almost done when his guest returned with an armful of bags.

  “Since you had nothing for the kitchen, I went to Target and stocked up. I’m sure I’ll think of things we need later.”

  We? Why didn’t that upset him more? Of course, he’d need to put a stop to buying more things. They wouldn’t be here too…. They? When did he become a “they?”

  Narrating as he pulled items from a bag, Ryan inventoried all his purchases. As he hinted, most bags were filled with things for the kitchen.

  “Hopefully, you recognize some of these,” Ryan joked.

  Gar didn’t ruin things by telling him he knew how to cook—quite well, actually—courtesy of his prior hosts.

  “And—” Ryan shoved the box of plates for four back in a bag. “—I got this.”

  Following Ryan to the television box, Gar noticed a flat box on the corner of the bed. Blu-ray? The kid bought a DVD player?

  “We can set these up later.” Ryan smiled proudly, or was it just joy? “And I still have a ton of money left over from what you gave me.”

  “Why didn’t you just take some from the drawer?” He didn’t need it right now, and he had more stashed away even if Ryan used it all.

  “It felt weird. Besides, you gave me this so I’d have money to take care of myself. Now you’re letting me stay here….” Shrugging, he turned his attention to the box.

  About to just move on, a voice inside told him to get up. “Hey.” When Ryan looked up, Gar motioned him over. He pulled Ryan into a hug and felt the younger man relax into the embrace. “You’re right, I did give it to you so you could use it as you wanted. I’m sure we’ll make good use of everything.”

  Unbidden, an image of David bringing home a slightly used toaster oven clouded his mind. A chill rushed though his body as he remembered how excited David was to show Will their first “joint” purchase for their place. He’d had to suppress his initial jolt of anger over David spending money they needed for other things by hugging him.

  Squeezing his eyes tight, he tried to banish the memory and the pain. Breathing quickly, he ignored the mystery of how a stray thought had slipped past his control. Ryan moved in his arms.

  “What’s wrong, Will?”

  Will? It’d been so long since he answered to that. The concern in Ryan’s voice even sounded like David’s. “Nothing, just a painful memory from forty years ago.”

  Ryan’s body tightened slightly. Gar looked down and found himself staring into a pair of brown eyes. “Forty years ago? Will, you’re barely older than me.”

  A slow head shake turned into a frown. “No, Ryan, I am much older than you.”

  The blank stare was expected. This was the perfect transition to what he needed to tell Ryan. “You’re what? Twenty-three?”

  “Twenty-four last week,” Ryan said.

  “I’ll be sixty-seven this year.”

  Squinting, Ryan snorted. “Whatever. How old ar
e you really?”

  He freed one hand and removed his wallet. His license peeked through the clear plastic window. “William Thomas Morgan III. DOB 08/05/1943.”

  Ryan’s gaze went from the wallet to Gar and back. “That’s a joke, right?”

  No laugh accompanied the question. There wouldn’t be. He knew Ryan started to understand.

  “No, it’s not.” Staring down at the face in the upper left hand corner, he shook his head. “I was thirty-five when I had this taken. The man who took my picture almost didn’t believe I was me, but I had my old license to prove my identity. After that, I decided not to get a new one. Now, if I need to produce identification, rare as that is, I just make people see what they expect.”

  Shoving the black leather wallet in his left rear pocket, he waited for Ryan to react. Mouth open a tiny bit, he stared at Gar, head tilted to the side. Finally, he mouthed, “Sixty-seven.”

  “C’mon.” Gar gently turned Ryan toward the door. “Let’s go talk.”

  7

  NAVIGATING the steep path to the park below, Gar kept quiet. Side by side, he and Ryan were unremarkable. All they needed to do was hold hands and people would declare them a couple. That was normal in this area of the city.

  Spring was David’s favorite time of year. Snow melted, flowers poked their way up, and trees bloomed. They had spoken of coming to DC to see the cherry blossoms, but they never made it. In a way he—they—were finally here.

  Rock Creek was a shallow creek strewn with—well, rocks. This stretch of water especially lived up to its name.

  “Most mornings, I come here to work out. They have these places, stations they call them, along the route for you to do basic calisthenics. I try to get down here before most people are awake.”

  Silence lingered for a moment. Should he just begin explaining? If Ryan took it badly, he’d have to move. Either that or alter his mind, which, for some reason, did not appeal to him.

  “I should come with you, but if you get up at the butt-crack of dawn, just wake me when you get back.” Ryan didn’t look over, but Gar could see the beginnings of a smile.

  Butt-crack of dawn? That was new. “So which do you want, the long story or the condensed version?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Might as well give me the whole thing.”

  “Probably best, if you plan to be there when I get my butt-crack up.” Gar stopped, forcing Ryan to turn. At first he stood, head tilted, staring at Gar. Finally, he smirked, shaking his head.

  “That was awful, you know?”

  “Of course, I have no sense of humor anymore.” His words, meant as self-deprecating, held more than a hint of truth.

  Gar shoved his hands in his pockets as they resumed their walk.

  “It was 1970. I was twenty-six years old and in love.” Never having told anyone what happened before, he wasn’t sure where to start or how much to say. “David and I met when I was in my second year at University of Penn law school. He was a first-year graduate student. David wanted to be a psychologist. We danced around each other for weeks, always turning up where we knew the other would be.

  “Back then, it wasn’t nearly as accepted to be gay as it is now. We were both afraid to say something until we were sure. Finally, he followed me into a small coffee shop near campus and, because it was full, asked to share my table.”

  The image of David, so young and still happy, made him smile. Ryan’s face matched his, as if he could see the image Gar was painting.

  “Sadly, we weren’t careful enough. Somehow, his rigid Italian Catholic family found out, and they disowned him. Well, not before his father tried to beat him with a strap. It almost broke us, but he had nowhere else to go.”

  “What about your family?” Gone was the happy expression.

  “Mine? They didn’t really care. Ours was an eccentric, old-money family that wasn’t very religious. They thought it was odd, asked if I was sure, and told David he was welcome anytime he wanted to visit.”

  Sharing how conflicted David was after each visit felt like a betrayal, so he decided to move on.

  “David got financial aid to stay in school, and I paid for our apartment. A crappy, run-down, one bedroom apartment over a pizza shop. But we were happy, even if we were poor.”

  “I thought your family had money.” Ryan put his hands to his mouth. “Sorry.”

  Gar waved it off. “Don’t be. Ask whatever. My family was, is, wealthy, but they paid for school, gave me a stipend—allowance, I suppose—and that was it. I had to support us both on that, so we had to find what we could afford.

  “We were together almost a year. I was setting up interviews with big, staid law firms, and he was getting ready to write his thesis. One night, I was walking home from school, and It was… just there.”

  “It?”

  “I call it a Purpose.” He hadn’t come up with the name, but he needed to explain more before Ryan would understand who did.

  “Purpose?”

  Frowning, he realized he wasn’t being clear enough. “It is difficult to explain, but try this. Whatever it is, it has no conscious intelligence, or if it does, it has never shown that to me or my predecessors.”

  Mouthing the last word, Ryan still looked confused.

  “The Purpose has been kicking around since before man developed language. It takes random people as its host and uses them to carry out its mission.”

  Gar stopped at the first fitness station, pull-ups.

  “What exactly is its purpose, Will?”

  “Vengeance.” Gar reached up and grabbed the bar with one hand. Ten pull-ups later, he switched hands.

  Ryan’s eyes went wide. “Do you do that every day?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Normal is a hundred per arm. You should come join me some time.”

  When Ryan didn’t respond, Gar shrugged. “Let me give you the quick explanation, and then you can ask questions to fill in the gaps.”

  “Okay.” He nodded, keeping some distance between them.

  “The spirit, let’s call it the Purpose, doesn’t communicate with me, doesn’t tell me what to do, but it still controls me. When an innocent person is killed, I feel it and am drawn to the killer. Imagine that the victim latches its soul onto the killer, and the Purpose uses that as a beacon, a tracking system, if you will. Once the Purpose feels the pull, the host—me—has to seek vengeance.”

  “What if you don’t? I mean, why can’t you just ignore it?” His skepticism was what Gar expected.

  “To answer that I need to explain one more thing. Every person who serves as a host leaves its memories, all of them, from birth to death, imprinted on the Purpose. It’s like a portable hard drive for memories. With a bit of effort, I can ‘remember’ what every other host saw, felt, or thought. And this goes back thousands of years.

  “From my memories, I know that if I try to ignore it, I’ll go mad. Stark raving lunatic mad. Every host that tried to resist the pull ended up insane in a matter of days. And while insanity might be a blessing for me, it would be unbelievably dangerous for the rest of the world.”

  “Why? Others went mad. The world didn’t end.” There was still doubt in his voice, but Ryan sounded less certain Gar was making this up.

  “Another aspect of the Purpose is power. It gives its host many benefits. I don’t age, I’m stronger than I should be, faster, I am fairly impervious to almost any weapon now, and my brain is hyperstimulated. I can read and manipulate people’s minds, and my IQ jumped by a factor of around ten.”

  Gar took the small device he always carried off his belt. “I created this to avoid detection. When we were leaving the alley, it created the illusion that we were an old man and woman. It also prevents video cameras from recording my image.”

  Gar spotted a pair of joggers nearing them and moved off the path. Ryan needed time to process what he’d been told, so Gar waited until the runners were past before continuing.

  “The more innocent victims I avenge, the stronger I become. For r
easons I can’t explain, I’ve been host for longer than anyone else, ever. Much longer. None of the prior hosts made it to twenty years, let alone forty. Imagine if you can, the havoc I would cause if I went mad. The Purpose would spur me to such violence, it would be unthinkable.”

  Nodding, Ryan said, “Until the police stopped you.”

  “Could they?” Motioning with his head, he started walking again. “I don’t know if I can be killed. I’m much stronger than any prior hosts. Bullets simply bounce off me now, leaving red marks where they strike. Certainly, there are ways for me to die, but it would take a while for someone to figure them out. Until they did, I don’t want to think of the casualties I would inflict.”

  “That’s….” Ryan’s gaze drifted away.

  “Frightening,” Gar finished, drawing a nod. “I know. It’s why I don’t fight it.”

  “How strong are you?”

  “Very.” How did he quantify this in terms Ryan could understand? “I know that’s vague, but I can’t measure it. I’ve flipped over a Ford Explorer, end over end, run faster than a train, leapt safely off a six-story building. Last month, I was shot three times at close range by a forty-five caliber handgun and didn’t bleed.”

  “Can you fly?” There was a hint of excitement mixed with fear.

  “No, but I can jump about twenty feet high with a running start.” He chuckled. “I do not, however, have heat-vision, x-ray vision, super-cold breath, and Kryptonite doesn’t weaken me.”

  Ryan laughed, which loosened tense muscles in his body. “So you’re not Superman.”

  “Exactly. What I can do is read and control people’s minds. I can make people see what I want them to see or not see. Reading people’s minds only takes a bit of effort.” He noted the almost panicked expression and quickly added, “Before you ask, I have not read your thoughts.”

  “Why not… er, I mean, I’m glad you didn’t, but what stopped you?”

  “I don’t want to.” That wasn’t very comforting, but it was the truth. And it got to the crux of the reason they were talking. “You’re different, Ryan. Not only do you remind me of David, there is something about you I can’t explain. I don’t know how, but you somehow calm the Purpose. Since I met you, I don’t feel Its presence always watching me. It’s still there, but it’s quiet.”