by CW Johnson
"Blew up?" Blaze said. "Why didn't I hear anything?"
"That's the strange thing. Only the people on the first floor heard it, isn't that weird? It about knocked me off my feet. At any rate, I’m glad they found your friend. It’s a good thing—we thought he might be dead.”
Blaze laughed. “He probably wishes he were at this point.”
Kathy looked at him curiously. “Father, you're not getting it.” She reached and pulled a key from under the desk. “Your friend was in room 123. A half hour ago, that room was a crime scene, but the cops have opened it up now. Go take a look.” She handed him the key. “This opens the north wing doors.”
Blaze glanced towards the ravaged hall.
“Be careful,” Kathy said, pointing, “it’s a mess in there.”
Blaze walked up the landing, turned left, stepped under the yellow caution tape and opened the door.
“Be careful now!” Kathy hollered from the desk. “We’re not responsible if anything happens to you.”
“I understand,” Blaze said. He turned, entered the hall, and immediately pulled to a stop. Wallpaper had been ripped from the wall. Dysfunctional lighting fixtures, part of the once tiled ceiling grid, were swinging gently from their metallic umbilical cords. The carpet was pushed into a heap at the end of the hall.
Blaze stepped over the debris and slowly made his way north. 119,120. He noticed the destruction seemed to be getting progressively worse as he proceeded down the hall. 121, 122. Finally, he reached the end and had to make a quick left to enter room 123. He rounded the corner.
“Oh my God,” he said. The door to the room had been ripped from its hinges. The wall and ceiling, visible from the hall, had been stripped clean of paint. He could see torn pieces of insulation clinging to bare wooden studs where the drywall had literally been blown away. Stepping around the carnage, he entered what was left of Jim’s room. The bed was up on its side, wedging the mattress and bedding against the opposite wall. Glass was strewn throughout the once-carpeted floor where the TV had fallen and imploded on impact. The curtains were surrealistically blowing through the gaping hole that once held a large plate glass window. Blaze carefully made his way towards the back of the room and looked out.
Just beyond Jim’s first floor window, a small decorative gazebo lay on its side. A thirty-foot wide swath of debris had been catapulted halfway into the adjoining parking lot.
Concerned for his friend, Blaze turned and hurried back through the rubble. He reached the double doors and passed into the lobby. Kathy was waiting.
“Now do you see what I mean, Father?” she yelled, but Blaze wasn’t listening. He walked to the elevator and pushed the third floor button.
Jim jumped when Blaze walked through the door. He had been sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Jim, your room looks like it’s been bombed. What the hell happened? Why didn’t I hear anything?”
Jim slowly looked up at Blaze. “Sit down,” he said softly. “We need to talk.”
~~~
Todd awoke early, hoping to have a chance to visit with Maria before their flight out. After taking a long shower, he took time milling over what shirt to wear. It had to be just right. He only had Maria for a few more hours. After that, she’d disappear into the vast UCLA student body. She had said she wanted to rekindle their relationship but Todd knew better. Maria could be intimate and caring one moment and completely disinterested the next. He knew this feeling well, like desperately clinging to a fast moving deep sea fish.
As he stood combing his hair, he again thought of Dr. Donahue brazenly coming on to Maria the way he did. How could he possibly compete with Dr. James Donahue? He realized he’d be crazy to go to her room. Maybe Donahue was with her. Maybe he’d find them together. Of course he wanted her—everyone wanted her. What would he do if he found them together? Someone knocked at the door.
“Just a minute,” he said, clearing a path. “Who is it?”
“Maria.”
Todd’s black mood lifted at the sound of her voice. He reached the door and opened it. She was standing in a light blue terrycloth robe. Her black hair was wrapped loosely in an oversized towel. She stepped into the room wearing cute little fuzzy white slippers and smelling of lilacs. He endured the familiar impulse to reach out and take her where she stood, but quickly suppressed it.
“Oh, you’re already dressed,” she said, looking him up and down. “I wanted some coffee—want some?”
“Coffee sounds great.”
She turned and moved back towards the door. “Good, I’ll go get dressed.”
“No, no, why don’t we have coffee here? I’ll just have some brought up.”
“And a croissant,” she said.
She moved to Todd’s bed, sat and began vigorously rubbing the towel against her hair.
He paused, silently adoring her.
“I thought you were gonna call,” she said, glancing up.
“Oh, sorry.”
He moved to the phone, ordered, went to the lounge-chair next to the bed and took a seat. “Why me?” he said, finally.
Maria stopped rubbing her hair and looked at him. “How many times do I have to say it? I wanted to celebrate us getting back together.”
“The only time you talk about getting back together is when I bring it up.”
Maria looked away. “Okay, Todd, whatever you say. Maybe I just needed a friend.”
“I don’t want to be your friend, Maria. I love you.” He immediately cursed himself for saying it.
“I know,” she said, returning to her hair.
“I just,” he paused a moment to collect his thoughts and continued. “I think if we’d have set our minds to it…really set our minds to it… we could’ve made it real. Maybe still could.”
Maria stopped rubbing her hair and looked up at him. “It wasn’t real?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You decided you didn’t want to be with me, remember?”
“I know.”
“What about…you know,”
“I’d have to learn to live without it.”
“You couldn’t before.”
“Maybe I could now.”
“No love?” she said, “no sex—ever?”
“Maybe I could love you enough for the both of us, but I need something. Most times you act like you don’t care at all.”
“Todd, Sweetie, it’s not you. You have to understand, I don’t want to be this way. It’s not something I’ve chosen. It’s the way I am. Some people are simply born asexual. It’s not just sex either. I’ve never loved anyone. I don’t even know what that means—I don’t have any idea what that feels like. It never meant we couldn't be together. That’s why we’re here. I’m trying to make it so we can be together, but, no, it can never be the way you want it to be. It’s just not in me. I’m sorry.”
Todd had heard it all before, but it didn’t make it any less painful. How could this consummate beauty be asexual? What kind of Draconian creator could have produced such a thing? Everything about this woman screamed sex; she was sex, and yet, she couldn’t find interest in any kind of sexual intimacy with anyone.
“Why were you chosen for this project?” he said.
Maria shrugged. “I was approached by the Vinces. Something about my genes, I guess. They interviewed a lot of girls; they picked me.”
“They told you they were looking for a surrogate mother for their clone?”
She giggled. “Oh, no, they only told me that after I was closer to being chosen. We all thought we were donating our eggs for research—they were offering extra credit—a lot of extra credit. When they finally told me the truth, I was absolutely zinged.”
Someone knocked at the door.
“Ooo, the coffee’s here,” Maria said.
Todd opened the door to see Father Jenkins. “Todd, we have to talk. I tried to reach Maria but—” The Priest seemed surprised to see Maria sitting on Todd’s bed dressed in a bathrobe. “Oh, I’m sorry.
I should’ve called.”
“No, it’s all good, Father,” Todd said, glancing back at Maria. “Maria just got here. We’re having coffee brought up. Care to join us?”
“Uh, no thanks. Hello, Maria. Can you two stay in town for a few more days? Dr. Donahue wants to meet with you both. It’s very important.”
~~~
The maid at the Sherrie’s Hotel knocked twice but no one answered so she let herself in. Seeing the figure under the covers, she glanced away, excused herself, and left. It was a good thing. Had she looked, she would have easily recognized the familiar young vagrant who lived in the parking lot next door.
Jesus Christ leapt from the bed and ran for the bathroom. He paced the bathroom floor till he was reasonably sure she had moved on and returned to peer out the window. Satisfied she hadn’t seen him, he cautiously opened the door just wide enough to hang the ‘do not disturb’ sign and quickly slam it shut again.
The sudden shock of being awakened from such a sound sleep had rattled him, but the blur was starting to fade. He began to remember the night before. Was it a dream? He knew he had to get out of there, but first, he was going to get himself a shower. He hadn’t had a shower in months, and he wasn’t going to let some maid keep him from it.
The towels had been strewn all over the room, but Jesus Christ was able to find a clean, dry one. He climbed into the shower, turned on the water, and moaned softly as his cupped hands channeled the soothing, warm water over his lean body.
As he walked from the bathroom, he realized he hadn’t felt this good in years.
He’d been thinking about the aberration from the night before. Something strange had happened. He’d grown used to strange things, but this was different. Everything was different. He remembered the Wells Fargo bag, whirled to check under the bed, and was startled to see Bartholomaei lying there. Bartholomaei never left the box, but there he was, lying on the bed.
“It’s still there,” Bartholomaei said.
For the first time, Jesus Christ took a moment to seriously consider Bartholomaei.
Bartholomaei didn’t usually talk like this, as a matter of fact, he usually just jibber-jabbered. That’s funny, he continued to notice, Up until then, he never realized just how odd it was that Bartholomaei never left the box and spent all his time jibber-jabbering.
He moved to the side of the bed, dropped to his knees and looked under. The bag was there, right where he had left it.
“I told you it was there.”
Jesus Christ decided to ignore Bartholomaei. He upended the bag. Money tumbled out on the floor in front of him.
“Years ago,” Bartholomaei said, “this money was stolen. It was buried and eventually brought to this place in a load of landfill.”
Jesus Christ continued to ignore him.
“Be wise spending this money, Lord, or you will certainly be stopped.”
Jesus Christ jumped to his feet. Now Bartholomaei was really sounding weird. “Who are you?”
“It is I, Lord, your servant Bartholomaei.”
“How did you get in here? Get the hell out of here!”
Jesus Christ caught his breath when Bartholomaei vanished. He ran to the window and looked out, not really sure why. This is all so weird.
He slowly returned to the bed and sat silently staring at the wall. After a short time, he decided he needed to talk to Bartholomaei. He was a little afraid, but he desperately needed answers and Bartholomaei seemed harmless—strange, but harmless.
Jesus Christ looked gingerly around the room and called, “Bartholomaei?”
As quickly as he’d left, Bartholomaei reappeared and stood in the middle of the room.
Jesus Christ was silent a moment, then asked, “Who are you?”
“I am your servant, Bartholomaei.”
Jesus Christ looked at Bartholomaei unsteadily and said, “Who—what—was that thing I saw last night?”
“It is one of the very old ones—it has many names: Hethron, Beale, Ramja… Bartholomaei.”
Jesus Christ stumbled backwards.
“You? That was you?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“What—why—are you here?”
“I am here to assist you in your great mission, Lord.”
“B-but, who am I?”
“You know who you are, my Lord.”
“Am I really…Jesus?”
“Yes.”
“The Jesus—Jesus Christ?”
“You are Jesus Christ, you are Mohammad, you are the Buddha, and you are the Great One, the champion of the only begotten son. In this life they will call you Brother Michael. You will bring many to the Father.”
Bartholomaei motioned for the newly named Brother Michael to sit in the chair by the bed. Michael gazed with wonder into the eyes of Bartholomaei. He had always known. No one believed him, but somehow he always knew this moment would come.
“I have much to teach you,” Bartholomaei said. “There is so much to do, and so little time left.”
Chapter Two:
Barney was bending over an unconscious vagabond when Pete walked around the corner.
“Hi B-Barney, who’s th-that?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Barney grunted.
“He g-got any ci-cigarettes?”
“Don’t know! I just got here I said! Oh wait—here we go.” The discovery of half a pack of smashed cigarettes softened Barney’s mood.
“Hey l-look!” Pete said. “Somebody’s c-comin’!”
Barney quickly pushed away from the unconscious man and was trying to put space between them when he realized it was just another tourist walking the streets of Nashville. “Pete, you idiot, I thought a cop was coming!”
Pete was already on the unsuspecting tourist. “Hey—hey,” Pete said, stepping out in front of the stranger, “my w-wife and k-kids are in my c-car just down the block and w-we run out of g-gas. You got some ch-change?”
The tourist slowed to a stop just as Barney rounded a nearby corner. He was a young man in his mid-twenties. “This one of your kids?” the tourist asked, pointing at Barney.
“N-no this is my—”
“What’s wrong with getting jobs like the rest of us?” the tourist said.
Barney, from where he was standing, quickly sized the young man up. He noticed the tourist was a little small, held his head too high, walked a little too fast. This little tourist was no threat.
Barney cleared his throat loudly, signaling Pete to move in.
Looking back to make certain Barney was clearly visible, Pete made his move.
“Look, you—you m-mor— m-moro—! G-give us some money or we’ll just t-take it away from ya—how ‘bout that?”
He moved forward and pushed the tourist. The tourist calmly stepped back, pushed off with his right leg, and at the right moment, swiveled his hip forward. The expertly executed maneuver channeled the young man’s entire body weight directly behind the fist that smashed into Pete’s forehead. Pete went down like a noodle.
The tourist turned on Barney. “You want some?”
“NO! NO! NO!” Barney bawled, moving away as fast as he could. By the time he rounded the corner, he was already at a dead run. He could hear the young man’s laughter fading into the distance as he sprinted away down the narrow alley.
He hid behind the trash bin in the back of the Catholic bookstore until he was reasonably sure the tourist had left the area. Watching his friend knocked unconscious with one mighty blow had scared him. In fact, the sight had conjured up some sort of deep, dark terror that welled up from somewhere better left forgotten. He hadn’t felt that terror since he took his last beating from the pig. It had been a long time since he thought about that filthy, fat, drunken pig who married his filthy, fat, drunken pig mother. He could still taste that big, fat drunken pig tongue wallowing around, pushing—slithering into his mouth like a turd. He bent down, retched and threw up his entire morning pillage. “My God,” he moaned, he hadn’t thought of that in years.
>
He finally picked himself up and began making his way back to where he’d left Pete. He turned the corner and was relieved to see Pete sitting unsteadily on the sidewalk. “Pete, are you alright? I chased that kid clear down to Eighteenth Avenue but he got away.”
Pete, still trying to focus, slowly looked up at Barney. “Hey Barney, wh-what happened?”
Barney stopped and stared. Pete’s eyes seemed to be working independent of each other. “Uh, that kid—remember? Pete, you sure you’re alright?”
“Re…mem…ber.” Pete rolled the word around in his mouth. “Hmm, the last thing I r-remember I was l-laying down on my m-mattress in the hut by the b-barges, then, th-that’s it—th-that’s all I c-can remember.”
“Well, it’s probably a good thing. When I got to you he had you down and you were crying like a little baby. I wasn’t gonna step in. I figured maybe if you took enough you’d stand—"
That’s when Barney heard it. It was the laugh; the one he had heard as he ran terrified down the alley. It was coming from right over his left shoulder. The tourist was back. Terror choked the words off in his throat.
Without warning Barney released a guttural scream and whirled to face his horrifying adversary.
“YAAAAAOOOOOOOOOHMYGGODDDDDDDD!”
Barney had braced himself for the fight of his life, only to turn and face that stupid moron kid who thought he was Jesus, standing there laughing and sounding all the world like that tourist. He felt adrenaline flood his body. The veins on his neck bulged as his rage erupted. He screamed and threw himself in the direction of the stupid little retard. He’d had a day, and this little gimp was gonna pay the price, big.
~~~
Todd and Maria stepped off the elevator into a small crowd of onlookers. The north wing had been cordoned off, but the devastation could be clearly seen through the double glass doors. They stood with several Japanese tourists inspecting the scene. One of the tourists offered possible explanations in her own brand of broken English
“Ooo, cah crash in?”
Todd wasn’t sure if the tourist was asking or telling.
“Maybe uh, uh, angry husband?”