I’m done with him, Stone thought as he looked over his reflection in the small mirror that hung in the solid white bathroom; the lone bulb flickered from time-to-time and the concrete flooring felt cold to his bare feet. His blood still seething like hot magma, his fists tightened as the memory rushed back into his mind, causing a flood of fresh humiliation to wash over him as he remembered Michael beating him in front of the priest. He heard Jeremy enter the tiny downstairs apartment, a draft came through the cracked bathroom door, creaking it open just enough for Stone to see him pass by. His large and heavily tattooed arms carried groceries, the full weight thudding on top of the kitchen table as he plopped them down. Stone met him in the kitchen to ask if he could help carry in anything else.
“Nah, I got everything in one trip. It’s not much.”
Jeremy was several years older than him, maybe a couple younger than Michael. The world made his face look unkind and dressed it in scars. A crooked, angry-looking one streaked down into one of his wolfish eyebrows. When he didn’t shave, his beard usually covered the two smaller scars crossing his jawline. He had never offered to share how those two came to adorn his face.
“What you got planned tonight?” Jeremy asked, bending on one knee as he put some groceries in the fridge.
“I’m thinking about heading over to Mikey’s to grab some things. What’s up?”
“Well, how long you think that’ll take?” He cracked open a beer, foam rising over the rim as he flicked his hand to fling his fingers dry.
“I’ll be back within an hour. I can make it fast if you need me to.”
“Ah, I didn’t realize you had plans and I know it’s last minute, but we have some very important guests coming over later. Try not to take too long.” The news intrigued him, but Jeremy didn’t offer any explanation; instead, smiling or laughing at Stone’s piqued curiosity.
“Guests? Hell, what’s with the suspense, give me something!” Stone shouted excitedly.
“Someone’s gotten their hands on something that will make life a lot easier for us. You’ll hear about the rest later on. Go on and grab your stuff, don’t waste any time.” Jeremy trailed off to his room, light from his antiquated television stretched across the gap under his closed door. Stone could hear the canned laughter from Jeremy’s favorite sitcom playing from an old disc that occasionally skipped.
…
He set out on his mission quickly after suiting up in his favorite hoodie and sneakers, which he had only ever tied once in a double knot. Mud caked the bottom of them and some grass clung to them as well due to last night’s activities in vandalizing the city’s business district.
Half running, half walking, he hastily made his way to the train station, darkness swallowing him up with each step. Thin slivers of silvery moonlight made its way through tree branches and leaves, speckling the ground ahead of him. There ya go again, Stone, with your piss-poor planning. A flashlight would have come in handy. All the streetlight bulbs were out in that section of the neighborhood, a symptom of the poverty there. Eventually, the lights of the train station, still a quarter mile ahead, illuminated his path. He picked up the pace to a steady jog.
Out of breath, he bought a ticket and made his way up the stairs to wait for the train. Two older men and a young couple were the only others waiting for the train. The couple made out passionately right up until the tracks began singing, signaling the approach of their ride.
Light scattered all along the ground, flickering against Stone’s filthy shoes as he waited impatiently for it to come to a stop. He called his brother as he boarded quickly found a seat away from the other passengers.
“Cole, call me back,” he said after the beep, leaving a voicemail. Why’s no one ever answer? Stone shook his head in frustration. Really hope Mikey doesn’t show his face, that bastard. Better not see him. Won’t be no more cheap shots. His heart pumped as he stared out the window as the train lurched forward along its path headed for Irondale and the other neighboring towns. Street lamps, cars, and buildings passed by in a colorful blur, distracting Stone for minutes, alleviating some of his irritation. He could see the solar panels ahead, shades of blue shimmering in the moonlight as the train traveled down the crest of a hill. He despised that the sight of them brought up feelings of home. He wanted it to vanish from his memory forever.
The train arrived at its first destination, the Irondale station, once historical for its appearance in cinema, its old glory had long been forgotten under the cover of the panels and growing poverty. The entire town simply vanished from people’s memories, forever buried to fuel the energy demands of Birmingham.
He waited a moment before he exited, looking from one end of the platform to the other. It was empty, making it unlikely he would run into anyone he knew. He called Cole again, but still no answer. He decided to rent a bicycle at the kiosk below the platform to use for the remainder of his journey to the house he left behind ever since that terrible fight with Michael. Familiar scents filled his nostrils as he drew closer. The solar panels trapped the putrid air in the town, decay and filth cooked slowly on the pavement.
…
The house came into view, an ancient vision of the past, clothed with Michael’s poor attempts at repair and renovations. Similar houses surrounded it -- outdated, sights of older architecture that outlasted most things built since their time. The two-story home rose from its gravel lot, the lights off, the windows black and covered with sheets and curtains.
He pedaled the bike a few more times and rode it out slowly as he glided silently and undetectable among the shadows, where the streetlamps couldn’t reach. He jumped quietly from the bicycle, catching it as it continued to roll, and laid it down gently. He didn’t dare make a single sound this late at night. Many of the neighbors had dogs and they’d relish alerting the entire cul-de-sac of his presence. Stone crept towards the side of the house where he and Cole shared the second-floor room. Colors and light flickered from the window of the dim bedroom. Surely, it was Cole, still awake. With no way to climb up to the window, he decided to try calling him again. His Auris rang, moments of silence penetrating through each disturbing tone.
“Stone?” He could hear his brother answer, his voice also made its way through the thin, cracked French-paned window.
“Hey bro, what’s going on, why haven’t you been answering?” he whispered back, not sure if he could safely reveal his location.
“I must’ve dozed off,” he slurred, still groggy from the drunkenness of sleep. “Mikey’s real sorry about everything. I think he’s been trying to call you and apologize. You have him real worried by not answering.”
“Yeah, well I ain’t speaking to him.”
“Amelia and Maria have been on his ass, at least. And Father Burns isn’t happy with him either. You should try to talk to him at lea-”
“I’m not interested in talking about Mikey.” Stone’s voice revealed his bubbling agitation, his impatience, his desire to forget Michael’s existence. The very name tore at his spirit. “Please just leave it be. I need your help with something.”
“Are you outside?” Cole moved from his bed and peered out the window, seeing a short man the shape of his brother, wearing a hood.
“Please, don’t tell anyone I’m here. I’ll leave if you do.” He showed his face in a ray of streetlight as he looked up towards his brother. He moved from side to side nervously, as if he take flight at any moment.
“Sure. What do you need?” Cole switched on the bedroom light.
“Everything in the camera bag, my laptop, and throw plenty of clothes in the duffle bag. Hell, just put everything in there.” Stone crept back into the dark cover of the alleyway between the houses, unsure if he could trust Cole.
“I’ll bring it out to you,” Cole called down to him, once he had everything ready. “Sound good?”
“Nah, just drop it out the window. I can catch it. I don’t want you waking everyone up.”
“I want to see you. Haven’t s
een you all week.”
“I know, I’m okay though. We can meet soon somewhere for lunch or something.”
“I’ll be quiet! I promise.”
“I miss you too, Cole. I’m in a hurry though. Those stairs are too creaky. Even a ninja couldn’t walk on them silently.”
“Fine, whatever.”
“I’m sorry, buddy. We will meet soon. I promise.”
Cole opened the window. The panes screeched as it lifted from the filthy window sill. He leaned over and grabbed the bag. It seemed too heavy to drop from such a height. He lowered the bag, his arm at full length as he leaned partially out of the window to get as close to his brother as possible before dropping it.
“I’m ready,” Stone called up, his arms reaching for his bag.
Cole released his grip on the handles and the bag dropped. It fell soundlessly several feet before Stone caught it. He immediately checked the contents, shuffling things around from one end to the other. He zipped it up and slung it over his right shoulder.
“Thanks, man. I’ll give you a call sometime soon about lunch. Answer it.” Stone said, looking up at the window as it closed. He backed his way out of the alleyway, “Love you, Buddy.”
“Love you too, Stone.” The Auris signaled the call’s end with a subtle beep and the room’s lights went dark again.
…
Stone picked his bicycle off of the gravely ground and took off without wasting another second. He didn’t want to keep Jeremy waiting and pedaled furiously in hopes he would get back before the guests arrived, whoever they were. He felt a little nervous about it. Not knowing what sort of news or plans waited for him caused his anxiety level to rise.
The cool night air whipped around him and the speeding bike, his ears filled with wind. The duffle bag weighed heavily on him, slinging from side to side as he pedaled. The tires made a zipping noise as they rotated on the hard ground and he continued to think about the night ahead of him. The past week kept him extremely busy with everything from vandalizing the STORK buildings and other public places to the night time errands Jeremy gave him from time-to-time. Most of the errands consisted of delivering packages with undisclosed contents to park benches and trash cans.
The other Zealots hadn’t allowed him to become part of their inner circle yet; and, even Jeremy helped keep their identities and purposes secret from Stone. The instructions for these deliveries always directed that he conduct the transactions in an abandoned lot or in the back alley of a storefront. He never laid eyes on the people he left the packages for. They always waited until long after he arrived back home before giving positive confirmation of retrieval.
Jeremy didn’t do the errands himself because he always worked on projects behind the closed door of his bedroom -- the nature of which he also kept from Stone.
It often frustrated him to think of all the secrets, but these unknowns also acted as a kind of light drawing him in like a moth to a street lamp. The sight of closed doors and sounds of muffled whispers filled his imagination with thoughts of the future and the part he would play in it. He entertained hopes that, eventually, after he adequately proves his allegiance, he would be the one keeping secrets and whispering important things to people. Even though, at this point, he was still a peon, his membership in the Zealots gave him a feeling of importance he never experienced before.
In his mind’s eye, he worked as a challenger of evil in the world. He fantasized that he would become a hero in his own time. He imagined seeing his image on a stained-glass window in a church -- carrying prayers of the faithful to the Lord. Yes, Stone dreamed of martyrdom, but beyond the vision, he didn’t have a clear understanding of how or why he might meet that end.
…
His heart raced as he ran down the concrete steps to the subterranean apartment that he currently called home. The light beside the door flickered and insects flapped their wings savagely against the brilliant bulb. He reached and twisted the knob, but found it locked, so he cautiously rapped on the door with the special knock Jeremy taught him.
Thud…thud-thud-thud…thud, his knuckles rapped against the splintered door, flakes of white paint fell away from crevices in the aged wood. He heard a voice as someone approached, footsteps singing with vibrations along the floor.
“Welcome back, Stone.” Jeremy didn’t smile, but he didn’t intend his seriousness to come across as intimidating. Stone figured it best to hide his smile and excitement, so put on a serious, yet friendly expression and straight posture. He pushed his hoodie back as he entered the apartment, following Jeremy into the living room.
Stone’s heart continued to pound even harder than before when he caught his first glimpses of the guests. The four of them sat on the couches and chairs around the coffee table. They were adults with average faces and no characteristics that stood out to give a hint about their identities. Two wore janitor uniforms. The only woman looked like she must work as some sort of mechanic and the fourth guest’s dirty wife-beater tank and faded torn jeans looked like someone out of an old movie.
The informality shocked Stone. He half expected the guests to look like modern day crusaders dressed in fine custom garments woven with crosses. He realized the silliness of that assumption as he shook their hands and introduced himself. They all remarked that they already knew of him and heard nothing but the best from Jeremy.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Stone,” the grease-covered woman responded. He noticed no trace of makeup on her small oval face and almond-shaped eyes and her hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Her female voice soothed Stone, seeping into his brain like morphine.
“Yeah, it’s a great pleasure,” the man in the white wife-beater tank agreed, his speech carrying a heavy southern accent, “Jeremy’s been tellin’ us about all the hell you been raising in the city. I’ve seen your artwork over in Five Points, looking pretty good.” A few of Stone’s late night missions involved painting graffiti and he played the artist quite well on these little excursions, not to mention the greatly needed propaganda he posted online. Many youths were encouraged by these videos of the riot and of other things, calling them to join the uproar. Stone had been very busy; he was the next generation, the connection to the future they needed to advance upon Unity and STORK.
“Thanks. Thank y’all.” He allowed a smile to escape.
“Stone,” Jeremy began after everyone settled down, “you’ve certainly impressed us with your eagerness over the past few weeks. And this last week you’ve proven your allegiance and true commitment.” Stone smiled again, unable to keep a serious expression after feeling a wave of euphoria wash over him in the wake of their compliments and praises. “We’ve all been working very hard as well, and we think it’s time that we filled you in on some of it. We’re going to need you in an upcoming project. What do you say? Think you’re ready for some new responsibilities?”
“Yes, absolutely,” Stone voice sobered at the sudden shift in tone. His stomach churned with renewed nervousness and his heart pounded in his chest. “Whatever you need. Whatever any of you need from me, I’m your man.”
Jeremy laughed as he unbuttoned the sleeve covering his left arm. Stone’s heart sank as he realized he failed to notice the roaring fire in their fireplace amid the excitement of meeting the guests. No one needed a fire this time of year. Gazing into the crackling fire, he noticed an iron rod laying deep into the hottest embers. His eyes darted quickly over the rest of the group. Every one of them holding out a bare left arm.
His sleeve rolled up above his elbow, Jeremy held his tattoo covered arm and showed Stone his mark -- a mark Stone greatly admired from afar, but the sight of it made him sick this time.
Everyone in the room had the same whelping cluster of brandings midway along their inner forearms. The symbol, rising up from the skin’s surface consisted of five crosses: one large center cross and four smaller ones on every corner of the large one. Antiquity knew it as the Jerusalem Cross, but in modern times the Zealots adopted it as
their symbol of initiation. No peons ever carried the mark, it was special to those in the inner-circle. I guess I’m not a peon any more. Stone felt numb.
“Stone, you must take this mark, just as all of us have. It is the mark of a true Zealot,” Jeremy explained as the woman made her way over to the fire and reached down to grab the rod from its resting place with her greasy hands. She drew it out of the embers and studied its glowing tip, the five red-hot crosses almost appeared to live and breathe.
“This branding,” Jeremy continued, “will transform you from ordinary rebel into true Zealot. You’ll be required to do things, at times, that may be hard for you. Our victories will come at great cost and to achieve success you must sacrifice your fears, ambitions, and desires for the mission ahead of you. It is a great honor, but it doesn’t come free.”
Stone sat in a chair, sweaty and pale. The woman approached him with the red-hot brand. Her soothing voice spoke, “By taking this mark, you are taking up your cross. It’s a commitment for life -- until your last breath. You understand?” Stone nodded his head, his face and mind void the childish excitement he felt before. His will aligned with theirs. Once done, he would no longer be the young man that entered the apartment earlier. He didn’t belong to Michael, he didn’t belong to Unity, he was to be made new that night.
“The five-crossed mark,” she began again, “symbolize the five wounds Christ received on His cross.” Her voice calmed him, his head spinning numbly as he prepared for the pain.
He held out a trembling arm and pulled the hoodie sleeve up and away from where it covered his arm. His fists tightened as the heat of the iron warmed his skin. She pushed it forward without the courtesy of a countdown, Jeremy held his shoulders, and the flaming tip popped onto his skin, leaving behind blackened crosses that smoldered upon his flesh. The stench of the smoke filled his nostrils, as it lifted from the excruciating wound.
Sowing Season Page 5