Defiant

by Ursula Sinclair

  The line was quiet again. I waited.

  “I don’t think I ever had the chance to tell you—I don’t always agree with you, but I am proud of you. You are a man of your own mind. I love you so much.”

  This is new. I didn’t know what to say. I opened my mouth and strangled to get the words out. To tell her I love her too, but there was nothingness. I pulled the cell from my ear and looked down at a blank screen. The fucking phone finally died. I crossed the street. Another two blocks, and I would be at the T station.

  I would meet with my brothers, and we would march. Afterward, I wouldn’t stay to celebrate our protest victory. The urge to see my folks was sudden and immense. I needed them to know I loved them too. I stuffed the phone in my pocket and quickened my pace. Movement picked up around me. People getting on with their day. The closer I got to the station the more crowded the sidewalks. Later, I would talk to Mom and Dad. If not tonight, there was always tomorrow.

  I trotted down the station stairs two at a time and pulled my wallet from my back pocket for the pass, pressing it against the turnstile as I moved. I am probably overthinking things; Bruno would be at our meeting place, and the Prof’s big secret wouldn’t be more than bringing in extra soldiers for this race war he was perpetuating. Like every other plan the Prof tried over the years it would most likely fail too. Things would get ugly, the police will intervene, emotions will run high, but no one will go to jail, and better yet, no one will get hurt.

  Even I knew it was bullshit I was creating in my head. At least Harper wouldn’t be there when everything went to hell.

  21

  Harper

  The ding of my phone on my nightstand told me I had a text. I stretched my hand out the way I’d done a few times during the night, expecting to touch hard, toned flesh. Instead, I skimmed soft warm sheets. I opened my eyes, and as soon as I did, I knew he was gone. I was a little sad not waking up with him beside me. My plan was to spend the day in bed, exploring each other more, to hell with any parade as long as we spent time together. Last night was incredible. I rubbed my legs against each other, remembering the feel of Dachs legs on mine, mine on his, his tongue on me. I smiled as my body clenched in anticipation. What happened between us was explosive, and oh so good, as I knew it would be.

  Then, why did he leave?

  I reached for my phone to find out what was going on, when I noticed the text was from Dachs. The smile on my face died when I read his message. “What the hell?” I sat up, suddenly the feeling in my stomach was no longer one of elation but dread. What was going on?

  I’d meant to talk to him about what he’d said about staying away from the parade but got sidetracked. Was there real danger involved? After what happened in Charlottesville, no one wanted a repeat of that. With all the precautions I knew the city would take, what else other than a few fights, if that, might happen. Did Dachs know about anything more than that? He already told me he’d be there. If he was going, then so was I. I didn’t bother to respond to his text. I’d find out for myself what was happening soon enough. I called Serena to tell her I’d meet her for breakfast then go with them to the parade.

  I stepped on the elevator and smiled, remembering last night. The elevator doors closed then came to a stop on the twenty-third floor. I looked up only then, realizing I got on an elevator going up not down. I also noticed something else, the camera.

  “Oh shit!”

  “Sorry, did you say something?” The person who’d just got on asked.

  “Ah no...sorry. I thought I was going down, not up.”

  I knew what I would have to do. I got off on my floor again and went back to my apartment. I grabbed some spare cash out of my office and got back on the elevator. I would have to bribe someone to forget about that video feed—better yet, delete it.

  Instead of going down to my garage for my car, I went to the lobby and stopped at the concierge desk. I breathed a sigh of relief; Pauline was still there. She’d been working last night. She was really sweet, and I knew her, and was always nice to her. I had even given her a ride home once. As soon as she saw me, she had a huge grin on her face. And, I knew she’d seen the video in the elevator.

  “Working a double?” I asked.

  “Yeah, thought I might be seeing you this morning.”

  I didn’t bother to ditter around. “What will it cost me to have you delete that footage?”

  She smiled. Turned to the computer and did something. “Done! I’ve done one or two things in my 60 years, I wouldn’t want recorded either.”

  I grinned. “I bet. Wait! What about the cloud?”

  “Took care of that too.”

  I put my hand to my chest. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” I took out the envelope of money I’d planned on bribing whoever was at the desk with to delete that video and handed it to her.

  She held up her hand, not taking the envelope. “Oh no, hon. It’s fine. I’m just glad it was me here and not Albert.”

  “Me too. He’d already have it up on YouTube.”

  She chuckled. “That’s true. But tell me one thing, is this your new man?”

  I nodded.

  “He’s my kind of man. Good thing I’m not 20 years younger.”

  We both laughed, and I took her hand and placed the envelope in it. “Take it—a belated Christmas present.” I walked out before she could protest.

  I pulled out of my garage feeling much better at least about the sex tape I’d inadvertently made, but the feeling of butterflies going crazy in my stomach over what would happen at the parade today didn’t stop. But I had to go.

  After breakfast, I left my car at Serena’s. We ended up having to take the T. There were hundreds of people everywhere and a lot of streets were blocked off. I think there might have been more people, black and white, lining the sidewalks counter protesting the protestors than were actually watching the official parade a block over.

  There is usually a crowd that shows up for the parades, but because there wasn’t four feet of snow, which would cancel it or icy cold winds, which would bring out fewer folk, instead, it was unseasonably warm at 60 degrees; there was a hell of a crowd. Most on the sidewalk held signs, with slogans like ‘Love Not Hate,’ ‘Black Lives Matter,’ and ‘Go Hang Yourselves.’ There were many others along the same lines. I stood with Serena and several other Harvard students we’d ridden the T with. We’d gotten there early, but there were already people lining the edge of the sidewalk, and even more arriving, until the sidewalk became four or five people deep for blocks. I found myself elbowed and shoved as people tried to position themselves, but I managed to stay just behind Serena.

  Cops lined the street in each direction I could see. Trying to keep those of us on the sidewalk from running into the streets and doing anything to the White Nationalists. I was sure there was some waiting to do that. As the shouting farther down the street got louder, I could feel the tension in the crowd growing. The Nationalists would soon come into our view as they marched up the street toward where we stood.

  I glanced at the police in front of us. The presence of that many cops did not reassure me; instead, it had my anxiety levels spiked dangerously high.

  Are they really needed?

  Of course they were, but who were they there to protect exactly—the crowd from getting out of hand or the counter-protestors antagonizing them?

  We heard the chanting, then more shouts from the crowded sidewalks, closer now. It all seemed surreal. Since I wasn’t at the front of the crowd, in truth, I couldn’t really see all that much. There were at least two taller people in front of me. Serena and I stood more in the middle of the group on the sidewalk. Then, just before the front line of the marchers reached our spot, someone broke from the crowd and got past the police and confronted the young men carrying a flag. They all wore white shirts, with red suspenders, khaki pants and black ties. Even their black Doc. Martens had red shoelaces. The three young white males couldn’t have been more than eighteen, if that, ca
rried a flag depicting an iron cross. A black guy with dreads down his back got right in the guy in the center’s face. He screamed at them, as did the rest of the crowd along with Serena and my friends. I said not a word not liking any of this. Then the man yanked the flag out of their hands; before anyone could stop him he set it on fire. Turning, he ran into the crowd.

  People moved out of his way and tried to block the nearest cops racing after him. Meanwhile, others in the crowd took that as some kind of cue to surge forward as though emboldened by the act of violence. The boys picked up the flag and tried to beat out the fire, but the men behind them just kept marching. It wasn’t until a couple of people in front of me stepped aside, that I saw two people I never thought in my life I’d see in the front of this shit show. One was a shock, the other I’d expected.

  He told me he’d be there. But still, to see him hurt my heart. A few hours ago, we’d lain together. We’d been as close as two people could physically be.

  Dachs.

  Dachs marched next to one of my fucking former professors, brandishing hate.

  My eyes welled with tears. I was so hurt and angry no words left my mouth. What was there to say? Dachs stared right at me in shock, but neither of us could look away. I could see nothing else but his face and hear nothing else but the breaking of my heart. A tear rolled down my face. The crowd shifted, separating us. But before they did, I read panic in his eyes.

  No!

  He didn’t get to panic. I took a step toward the front, so I could see him again. Just as the world exploded into unrelenting, mind numbing sounds, and I was drawn down into an abyss of hell. Someone shoved me, and I fell to the ground, but one of my friends was there to help me up.

  “You okay? We need to get the hell out of here,” she said.

  “I’m fine.” My palms were scratched on the rough sidewalk, but I was otherwise unhurt, I managed to get to my feet.

  Pandemonium broke loose. I heard the explosions, then the screaming. It took me a moment to register what was going on. I smelled the fire before I saw a store in flames, then there was another flaming bottle flying toward the people on the sidewalk. Someone was tossing firebombs or something into the crowd. The air filled with smoke, panic and fear—mine included. I’d been so intent on trying to catch Dachs eyes again, wanting to make sure, I don’t know what I wanted to do, confront him. But, we had to get out of here. I heard someone, I think Steve, scream, “Serena!”

  I turned back around and saw my best friend on the ground, our friends near her. I thought I’d been afraid when I fell. My heart slammed against my chest in true fear now. I made my way over to her, Steve and James knelt beside her, protecting her from getting trampled. We picked her up, but she was unconscious. James held her while I shoved a path through the crowd for us. People were running, some toward the protestors to fight, others away from whatever the hell they were tossing into the crowd. We just needed to get the hell out of there; Serena needed help. I prayed to God she was all right.

  22

  Dachs

  Hell.

  I don’t understand how I got here, but there was no denying the reality of it.

  There was no tomorrow. You can’t think about that yet. Mom is alive.

  That thought chased itself in my head. My mind kept flipping to what happened, and what was currently going on. This bullshit—my mentor’s great plan.

  I stopped pacing the hall and leaned my forehead on the cool windowpane. I closed my eyes to block out the images. Instead. different, more vivid pictures ran like a movie through my mind in slow motion. This shouldn’t have happened. It wasn’t part of the plan. At least not the one I was a part of—the one I helped form.

  Beeps and dings echoed faintly through the halls. The low din of chatter from doctors, nurses, patients and visitors almost drowned out the whir of machinery. I lifted my lids and spun around to drop into a chair. A medicinal scent combined with the strong smell of disinfectants created an odor that made me nauseous. I leaned forward and rested my head against my fists. Slowly I banged my knuckles into my head, harder and harder. Upon arrival to the hospital my mother had been immediately rushed into surgery.

  What started out as the usual bullshit I’d done a hundred times over the years, twisted into something unimaginable. Things had gone too far. When two conflicting, highly volatile groups clashed there was bound to be violence. Pepper spray, I was prepared for; Molotov cocktails, I was not.

  At some point during the march, when counter protestors acted, it was like my brothers had been given an okay. I sucked in a deep breath and choked on the myriad of odors that got locked in my lungs. Bricks were thrown, that was no surprise. The bottles though, they’d been weaponized. This wasn’t some simple thing; it wasn’t anything that Prof, Bruno or even Becky had discussed with me. I paused. Did Becky know about this bullshit? This was premeditated.

  Gasoline would eat through regular fucking plastic, glass had to be collected. The chats from the night before spiraled through my head.

  A special project for Bruno.

  My brother had disappeared for weeks prior to the event. The scope of this shit crossed the line into domestic terrorism, and I would be an idiot to think the actions of my group wouldn’t have consequences. Stupidity did not excuse a jail sentence—one that could see me behind bars for the remainder of my natural life.

  Now, my mother was caught up in this—this hell—I have no clue what else to call it. I rubbed my temple. An errant bottle burst through my family’s storefront glass pane and exploded in the shop. Flames erupted near my mom—so close, her clothing caught fire. I exhaled and lifted my head to gaze at my father. My dad sat in a corner, staring out into nothingness. The old man didn’t utter a word, rubbing his bandaged hands against each other. In the breath of time my mother was rushed to the hospital, I watched my dad age before my eyes.

  I glanced around. Those so-called brothers had scattered after creating chaos. The last person I saw was Bruno running for an alleyway behind the burning pierogi shop. Only God knew where anyone was.

  Harper.

  She was there, but I got caught up trying to get to my mom. I hadn’t bothered to check on her. All I could do was hope she was alright.

  If I took a deep breath, I could still smell the ripeness of gasoline on the breeze—feel the heat of multiple fires erupting along the sidewalk beside me as I ran for my home. In the chaos I lost track of Harper.

  Jesus, I told her not to come.

  I failed both women.

  My mom was surrounded by good Samaritans who had taken off shirts and jackets to cover the woman who birthed me. The bit of skin I did see was grotesquely darkened, highlighted by streaks of blood. My dad followed close behind her, his palms raw and bloody. He’d tried to put out the flames consuming my mom with his bare hands. I heard the wails of my father calling my mother’s name as he was dragged through the burned out opening of their pierogi shop. An underlying scent of cooking meat wafted to my nose as I burst through the group of observers, and I wasn’t sure if it was a vendor, or…I didn’t want to think about it. The last image I had of my parents was them being rushed into the ambulance, and the vehicle trying to drive through a crowd that wasn’t moving fast enough. I ran behind that ambulance, pushing through people for as long and as far as I could—praying. In a matter of moments, I had become a hypocrite. Even at my lowest, I never asked God for a damn thing, and now, I was begging him—pleading with whatever greater being would listen to save my mother.

  I couldn’t watch my dad anymore. How did I tell the man, I looked almost exactly alike, everything was my fault. His wife, my mother, was dying because of the family I’d adopted—men and women, I claimed as brothers and sisters. I glanced up and down the hall. Police would probably be here soon. A coward was not someone I was raised to be. I would own up to my part in the bullshit scheme to my father. I moved to sit beside my dad but glimpsed the Prof marching down the hall, a small entourage in tow. Their faces were stone mask
s of impassiveness. There were a couple of guys I didn’t know—one I did.

  Gage.

  Did he know what the Prof was up to? Were the men with him, and them, from Gage’s chapter, cause I saw no one familiar from ours. A current of uncomfortableness—no—hate crackled down my spine,

  Prof stopped inches away from me, standing with his feet together, his back straight and head forward. Looking at him, most folks thought he might have served in the military. The S.O.B claimed he couldn’t even register because of his flat feet. Fucking bastard took a few steps, invading my personal space. It was an intimidation tactic I’d seen him use before with the new members.

  “I came as soon as I heard your mother was attacked.” His voice cracked, but I knew it was an act—as if the man I viewed as a friend and mentor, a fucking father figure, didn’t instigate everything. “You planned this.” Anger roiled, choking me.

  “Son, I came to support you. It’s those damn people; the ones that don’t look like us. They started it! They are framing us! You saw it, they came for us, first. Of course, we are supposed to look bad. Think about what that nigger did not too long ago, paying someone to beat him up and blaming us. It’s the same thing. It was another nigger that attacked us first. They can’t be trusted.” Prof gripped me by the shoulders. His blunt fingertips pressed deep indentations into the fabric covering my skin. Anger choked me, this fucker had the nerve to touch me.

  Me!

  We were once friends; I bit the inside of my cheek to contain the rage threatening to erupt in me. This is not the place or time to beat his ass. I allowed him to keep talking. “None of those darkies can, and that’s what you need to tell the police when they come. That they did this and are responsible.”

  There it was. I lowered my head, not in submission but because I could no longer stomach the sight of him. “I don’t have time for this.” I stepped away, reminding myself that fighting in the hospital would only add to my troubles.