by JA Huss
“That’s a language?”
“Yeah, it’s a fuckin’ language. The first fuckin’ language. Well,” I amend, “it’s not actually the original. The original was in Sumerian. But there’s no surviving tablets of that. So—”
“Can you not swear? It bothers me.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m just kidding,” she says, bumping me with her hip. “You’re so moody. Why are you so moody, Johnny?”
“I’m not moody. I told you—”
“I know. You don’t do moods. So then, why are you so not moody?”
“Because I have a lot of shit on my mind and you’re…” But I pause. I don’t really want to say the last part of that thought.
“I’m what? Fucking up all your plans?”
I point at her.
“Sorry.” She giggles. “It just slipped out. No one’s ever commented on my swearing before. I’m not really a chronic fuck sayer.” She laughs when I shoot her another look. “You just bring out the filth in me.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Which part?”
“All of that. You must say fuck a lot for it to come flying out at every turn. Don’t blame that on me.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Shit. I know plenty of others just like you.”
“Just like me, huh? Do they rearrange the genomes of rats so they live forever?”
“Nothing lives forever. So stop saying that. That’s not what you did.”
“I’m as close as one has ever gotten to finding the fountain of youth for rats.”
I chuckle a little. Can’t help it. “Is that so?”
“That is so. I could go down in history for this. If I were a regular scientist, in like, you know, a regular lab, I’d probably be shortlisted for the Nobel Prize.”
I sigh again. She really does tire me out.
“Anyway. I’m telling you that the tattoo means something to other people. No one cares what they are when they see you, ya know. They see ink. That’s it. Just ink. And guys like you with ink like that, well, you know. Those tats say, I’m dangerous. Don’t fu… don’t mess with me.”
I smile.
“And I guess, OK, you’re right. A woman like me saying fuck like that, it also says something. But I’m not just the words that come out of my mouth. Just like you’re not just the words inked on your skin.”
“Fair enough, I guess.” I glance down at her. “But I really am the words on my skin.”
“Really?” It comes out sarcastic and incredulous.
“Yeah. I might not look like it, but I’m a serious dude.”
She laughs. Loud. “Oh, you look it, buddy. Trust me, you look it.”
I think about that for a few moments. Wondering how people really see me.
“‘I will proclaim to the world the deeds of Gilgamesh,’” Megan says softly.
I stop in my tracks and stare at her.
“‘This was the man to whom all things were known; this was the king who knew the countries of the world. He was wise, he saw mysteries and knew secret things, he brought us a tale of the days before the flood. He went on a long journey, was weary, worn out with labor, returning he rested, he engraved on a stone the whole story.’”
She stops and smiles at me.
“How do you know that poem?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I’m a nerd who grew up on an island. My whole childhood was nothing but books. But it should say… ‘He engraved on his skin the whole story.’ Shouldn’t it, Gilgamesh?”
I smile back at her.
“Is that how you see yourself, Johnny Boston? The king who went on a journey to learn secrets and then got weary?”
“He wasn’t a king,” I say. “He was a demigod.”
“Ohhhh.” Megan laughs. “I see. I see.” Then she holds up my arm again. “OK, so you’ve got literature on there. But what’s this?”
I look down at the tattoo she’s pointing to and frown. “That’s one my dad had. The only one he had, actually. I got this after he died. Kinda like a tribute, I guess. His had my mother’s name on it and the words ‘Never forget’, so I guess it was his tribute to her. But I left that part out because it felt weird, since I didn’t really know her.”
“Wow, you Boston men are deep,” she chuckles. “And really have a thing for mythology.”
“What do you mean?”
“This.” She points to my tattoo. “This is Sisyphus.”
I look down at the art on my forearm and narrow my eyes trying to place that name. It’s a picture of a man leaning against a large… rock, I guess. He looks pissed.
“This is the last thing I remember seeing at his funeral,” I tell Megan. “Because someone had come into the viewing room and rolled up his sleeve and the tattoo was like staring me in the face or something. I thought that was weird, at first. But then I took it as a sign. I was pretty drunk. Anyway, I left the funeral and went straight to my ink guy and got it done. That’s the only thing it means to me.”
“Well, Sisyphus cheated death. There’s lots of stories about how it went down. But most of them say he gave everyone on earth the gift of eternal life and was punished by Zeus. Ringing any bells?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorta. Something about a stone?”
“He had to roll it uphill for all eternity. In Hell.”
I stare at the tattoo. Not exactly liking this new connection.
“Pretty fucked up if you ask me.” She starts to walk again but I grab her hand and pull her back. “How much do you know about me?”
“Um… not much, I guess. I’ve heard your family name. But that’s about it.”
“Do you know where I live?”
She shakes her head no.
“Up in the top of a very tall building. That’s my home. The only home I’ve ever had. I lived in a place made of glass but none of the windows open. Do you know what it’s like to be caged up in a place with no wind?”
“Um…” She shakes her head and frowns. “No. Coming from where I do, I can’t even begin to imagine that.”
I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. “Well, it’s fucking suffocating. That’s what it’s like. My whole life I felt like there wasn’t enough air. I felt like a prisoner up there in that tower. And you know what the worst part was, Megan?”
She shakes her head again.
“The worst part was I was on top of the world looking down at it like a fucking god. Because in my world—” I pause. “In our world, I am a god of sorts. If one of my people steps out of line, one word from me and they’re done. It’s over. I don’t even have to do it myself, though I have. Many times. No one should have that much power, you know.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I get it. I do.”
“But here’s the thing. I’m nothing. I’m no one compared to the real gods of this planet. I have no power compared to them. None. Zero. And I’m one of only a handful of people on this small spinning rock who realize just how weak and powerless we all are. Because the gods who rule this world, they’re not on a journey to find secrets. They just want to…”
But I stop and think about that for a moment. Maybe even too long of a moment because Megan says, “They just want to what?”
And I’m just about to finish my thought when I pull back and say something else. “Conquer. They are warlords who want to conquer this life and nothing more.”
I pause for her response. But she just stares up at me so I finish with, “I don’t want to be one of them, Megan. I’m just caught up in something bigger than me. All I want is out.”
She stares into my eyes for a long moment. “You’re not a god.”
“I am not a god.”
“You’re a demigod.”
Which makes me laugh. “Yeah.” I keep hold of her hand but start walking again. “Yeah, that’s what I am. Gilgamesh, the demigod. Weary from his journey of secrets.”
We walk the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence. And I don’t know what Megan’s
thinking about, but I’m thinking about the Way. How they control things. How they control us. How they control everything.
And no one even knows it. Not even my contributors back home understand the extent of what they’re mixed up with. Michael Conner makes me laugh. The Kane family makes me laugh. They all make me laugh because they have no fucking clue what they’re paying for.
And I would laugh at them. I would laugh at all of them. I would go out to that Kane estate and laugh my ass off.
But it’s just not funny.
The Way.
What way? Why is it called the Way? Every time I asked my father that question he’d say, “The way forward, son.” But nothing else.
The way fucking forward? This? Really? This is the future of humanity?
I can’t believe it because I don’t understand it.
I was serious when I told my brothers that I would just kill myself to get out if I thought it would work. If I didn’t think that the Way would just go after Joey and Jesse when I was gone? Hell, yeah, I’d kill myself. My life to save two? Sounds like a good deal to me.
But it’s not that simple. It’s just not that simple. This organization is all about the line of succession. They would get Joey, then Jesse, then Zach.
I’m stuck. And that’s why I’m here.
I have this urge to tell her all this. To make her understand me, and know me, and believe me. But then we’re here at the restaurant and I let that stupid urge fade into the background where it belongs.
I tell the maître d’, “Reservation for Logan, cabaña three.” And she smiles and checks our name off her list. A neat little record of a table claimed. A task completed. A box ticked.
Then we’re led into the dining room and seated at a half-circle booth in the back. There’s live music tonight. Some young Caribbean girl all dressed up like an adult crooning softly into her microphone. She has the jewelry, the makeup, the dress, the hair, the pipes… but she can’t be any more than fifteen. I’d bet my life that this little singer can’t even legally drive.
I order a bottle of good wine and it comes to our table just as the girl on stage slips into a cover of Diamonds, by Rihanna. Her voice is perfect. Her act is perfect. And I can’t help but wonder, “How?”
“What?” Megan asks.
“How does a girl that young get here?”
Megan, confused, looks at the girl on stage.
“She can’t be a day older than fifteen. If that. So how did she get on this stage?”
“Her father runs the restaurant?” Megan offers.
“Maybe,” I say. “That could be it. Or maybe she just has a plan. You ever meet one of those people?”
Megan is still very confused. “Who? What people?”
“Like her, you know? She’s got it all together. She’s got a spreadsheet somewhere. On her phone, her iPad, wherever. And to get here, at that age, she has to have been ticking off boxes for a long time now. How do people do that? I’m thirty-six years old and I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t have a fucking spreadsheet, you know?”
“Well, to be fair,” Megan says, raising one eyebrow at me. “She’s a child singing songs. You’re a Way banker. You can’t really compare the two.”
“Can’t I? I mean, these people like her? They get their purpose in life so early. But then there are people like me who never quite understand where it is they’re going and it takes them fifty years to get to that same moment. That same level of surety. She is the next Rihanna.”
“Come on.” Megan laughs. “She’s good, but—”
“It’s not about good, Megan. It’s about belief. It’s about knowing your path. It’s about ticking off boxes in spreadsheets. It’s about… drive. Her journey is just… short.”
“Yeah, and she’ll probably be addicted to drugs or married to an asshole by the time she’s twenty.”
“Or not,” I say. “Or she really is Rihanna.”
“Rihanna? I mean, are we talking about the same girl? Her journey wasn’t short. Her path wasn’t easy.”
“But she was on it, you know. So early. That’s my point. She had a plan.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing. I’m not even convinced it was her plan. I’m kind of a fangirl of Rihanna. I’ve read her history. There’s a little hint of exploitation there, don’t you think?”
“No, you don’t get it.”
“OK. I guess that’s true. I don’t get it. You’re not… lost. You’re here, right? Fighting the good fight? Trying to change shit? So don’t tell me there’s no plan inside you, Johnny Boston. There is a plan inside you. Maybe it’s not a spreadsheet with ticked-off boxes, maybe it’s something else? Something pre-planned, or no. Predetermined. Maybe… maybe it’s just destiny?” She nods, happy with that answer. “Maybe she planned her path and maybe she got herself this gig on that stage through sheer force of will and unadulterated determination. If so, that’s cool. I bow to her. Full respect. But if I’m gonna choose a side I’ll pick destiny over ticked-off boxes every day of the week.”
“Are you choosing a side?”
“Are you asking me to choose a side?”
I shrug.
“Well, ask me again when you figure out if you want me on your team. Then I’ll let you know.”
CHAPTER TWLEVE - MEGAN
Johnny Boston is having an existential crisis and I get the privilege of witnessing it.
Is that a good thing?
I’m not sure.
But I do like his truth right now. His realness. His, dare I say, vulnerability.
The girl leaves the stage after her big Diamonds cover, thank fuck. And Johnny goes back to being… well, Johnny.
Sullen. Angsty. Brooding.
It’s like he’s a thirteen-year-old girl. I almost ask him if he’d like to switch lives with the mini-Rihanna. But I control myself. Something really is bothering him and it’s starting to make me nervous.
I’m pretty sure Johnny Boston’s existential crisis is a bad thing. Nothing good ever comes from second-guessing yourself.
I tell him that. But he just answers with, “One man’s second-guessing is another man’s Plan B.”
Yeah. Can’t compete with that writ of wisdom.
But then, after the tiny wannabe is gone, he settles. Calms down. Or maybe that third bottle of wine has something to do with it? Could go either way.
His phone rings when we’re just finishing up our main course. He got steak and lobster and I got a cheeseburger.
They don’t really serve cheeseburgers here, but I batted my baby blue-greens and what do you know? They conjured one up for me.
I hardly ever had cheeseburgers on the island. It was mostly seafood because we bought it fresh from local fishermen. If I had it my way I’d never eat lobster again, that’s how often that dish has been served to me since my teens.
“Yeah,” Johnny says into his phone. Small pause as whoever is on the line identifies himself. Then Johnny sighs and leans back in his seat. It’s the first time I’ve seen him relax since we got here. “Good,” he says. “That’s fucking great. I owe you, Logan. I will pay you back.” Another pause. Then a small chuckle. Logan must be throwing out some wit. “Perfect. See you in the AM.”
He ends the call and sets his phone down on the table. “We’re set for tomorrow.”
“Got your guns?” I ask through a mouthful of cheeseburger.
“That, and more.”
“Are you happy now?” I ask, still chewing.
“I guess.”
I swallow and take a sip of wine. Then say, “Good. Because tomorrow on that island I need you to be at peak levels, Johnny Boston.”
“You expecting a lot of retaliation?”
I frown at him. “No. They’re not soldiers. They’re scientists.”
“Right,” he says. And then he’s nervous again.
I put the rest of my cheeseburger down, dab my lips with the cloth napkin, and then put it on my plate. “I’m don
e.”
“You only ate half of it.”
“It’s all I need.” I smile at him because I think he needs a smile right about now. “Besides, I want to go swimming before I turn in.”
He stares back at me. “Swimming.” He says the word like it’s the most foreign concept in the world. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. It’s hot and… tomorrow…” I shrug. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Oh,” he says, breathing out the word. “Right.”
I nod. “You wanna come with me?”
“Swimming?”
“I know you went earlier and maybe you’re tired. So if you’re not into it—”
“I’m into it.”
“OK.”
He takes another deep breath before he stands and for a moment I have an overwhelming feeling of dread. A dark cloud passes over me and a chill runs up my spine, making me shudder.
One of us has to lose tomorrow.
We can’t both win.
I don’t want to lose, but I don’t want him to lose either.
It’s just… I have to do this. I have to.
“Megan?”
“Huh?” I look up and find him standing next to me. His hand extended. “Oh.” I place my fingertips on top of his palm and he helps me out of the booth. There’s an awkward moment when I smile, and he smiles, and then I feel like his blue eyes are burning into my soul and he can see everything inside me. Every past transgression. Every dark secret.
But then he says, “I had a nice time tonight. Just for the record. I’m not really the kind of man who says things like that or… does things like this. And if I clouded your mood with my dark thoughts, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
It’s not my mood he clouded tonight. Not really.
It’s my intentions.
Our walk back to the cabaña is mostly silent. But we’re just turning down the path towards the beach when Johnny says, “You know, I’d just like to make something clear.”
“What’s that?”
“Earlier you said us. Like I’m part of them. And I’m not, Megan. I’m not part of them. I didn’t ask for this and I don’t want it. I’m just… trapped. I’m not out to hurt people. I’m not out to take their money. It’s just a job I’m not allowed to quit.”