by G. C. Julien
O’s little Lucy.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection again, and a deep sadness overcomes me.
Ophelia.
My brows come close together. Does Lucy know the truth?
What have you done? This is all your fault. Are you proud of yourself? Of what you’ve become? Of who you are?
It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that I continue to guide these women in the right direction and away from mankind’s monstrosities.
That’s my purpose.
That’s why I’m here.
I try to smile, but my lip only twitches and I feel idiotic.
There’s no reason to smile.
You don’t deserve to smile.
I tug on my white overcoat and pull my shoulders back, creating an arch in my back.
“I’m Eve,” I say aloud, “and I will bring these women eternal happiness no matter the cost.”
Eve – Flashback
She looks so frantic right now, walking from one end of the apartment to the other.
“O, would you sit down?” I say.
She flicks her hand at me as if she doesn’t want to hear what I have to say. Yet, she called me.
“Ophelia!” I say, and her eyes catch mine. It works every time—calling her by her full name. I wonder if her mother does this to her, if that’s why she reacts the way she does.
She breathes out sharply, then plops herself down beside me and presses her face into her hands. She peeks at me through a crack in her fingers. “Am I losing it? Do you think I’m crazy?”
It’s funny how O turns to me for consolation when I’m the undergrad living with my mom, and she’s several years ahead of me, with her own apartment and a kid. I feel much younger than her in so many ways—not only in age—but when it comes to her emotional well-being, I’m always able to center her.
“You’re not crazy. I’m sure you were followed,” I say.
“I was,” she says, almost snapping, but she quickly collects herself.
“Was it Jason? Is that ass…” I lower my voice, realizing that Lucy may be able to hear us. “Is that asshole still harassing you?”
Jason’s her ex-boyfriend. Well, he wasn’t much of a boyfriend at all. He was an acquaintance through friends. O says she doesn’t remember what happened, but I think she doesn’t want to remember. She says her friends found her in the laundry room with her pants down to her ankles seconds after Jason walked out, and there was blood in her panties.
Now he’s been harassing her—telling her if she doesn’t let him see Lucy, he’ll take her to court. But it doesn’t end there. He has some macho friends he’s been sending out to stalk her. He seems to think that intimidation is the way to get what he wants.
What worries me is that Jason’s already threatened to let his guys do whatever they want to her and said if Lucy happens to see them gang-banging her mom, then that’s too bad.
He’s a goddamn lunatic.
She looks like she’s about to cry, but she swallows hard and bites down on her bottom lip. “Yeah, he still is. But he’s not the problem right now. He knows I’ve been talking to Laura Stanford—a lawyer I found online. He knows he needs to keep some distance right now. It’s his fucking henchmen. If anything happens to me, or my daught”—her voice cuts out—“they’ll deny having any connection to Jason.”
“And the police? He’s harassing you, O.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Did you forget? Jason’s in Police Foundations. No one’s gonna take my word against a soon-to-be cop. Not to mention, he’s already buddy-buddy with a bunch of cops at the station, and they’re all men. I can’t remember the last time I saw a female cop. No man is gonna take a woman’s side—not with everything that’s going on.”
I let out a long sigh. Although I’d never say it aloud, I wish someone would kill him. He can’t be arrested, and she can’t sit around and rely on the court system. Murder seems like the only plausible way out.
“What’re you thinking?” she asks me.
I must have had my thinker look on: a spacey gaze below two furrowed brows.
I’m picturing him lying in gravel beside an alley dumpster. His face is beaten to the point of deformation. His bloody teeth are on the ground, and his lips are a dark gray-blue.
“Nothing,” I say. But the truth is, I’m also picturing myself standing over him with a crowbar hanging at my side. Or a big piece of wood. I’m not sure what I’d use. Anything I could find, I suppose.
Where are these thoughts coming from? I know they’re wrong, but I can’t help myself. He’s a piece of shit and he deserves it. In fact, he’s more than a piece of shit—he’s a sociopath. O’s told me some stories about his past that would make anyone want him dead—animal torture, mostly.
I quickly force a smile when I catch her staring at me again. It’s only a thought, I tell myself. It doesn’t mean anything. Everyone has violent thoughts every now and then. I’m sure O has them, too.
“You have any big guys as friends?” I ask.
She cocks an eyebrow at me.
“You know, to go after these guys. To go after Jason’s lapdogs.”
She shakes her head. “It’s only me and Lucy.”
I’m running out of ideas, and I find myself turning back to my original fantasy.
What other way is there?
“You want some noodles? I’m making spaghetti,” O says, pulling me out of my barbaric train of thought.
I smile up at her. “Sure.”
She goes into the kitchen, and the sound of plates and utensils clanging together echoes throughout the apartment.
“Lucy, honey, food’s ready,” she shouts out.
Lucy comes bolting out of her room—much faster than I’d have expected. Was she just sitting there? By the door? Listening to everything? I’m glad I didn’t talk about killing anyone.
She smirks at me, almost mischievously, and I know she was listening.
“How’s your game?” I ask. “How many points are you at?”
She’s quick on her feet. “Twenty-three thousand.”
I nod slowly even though I know she’s bluffing. She’s a smart kid, I’ll give her that. She gets a bowl of spaghetti with steaming hot tomato sauce and runs back into her room. The whole apartment smells like warm thyme and oregano.
“Here,” O says, handing me a kid’s plastic bowl with spaghetti inside. It looks like the 2042 holographic version of Finding Dory, but I can’t tell because most of the blue paint is chipped off.
“Nice dishes,” I tease.
She shoves a spoonful of spaghetti into her mouth, pink noodles dangling against her chin. “Dat’s—dat’s what you get,” she tries, “when you ’ave kids.”
I wonder if I’ll ever have children. But then I think of O and the heartache she’s going through, and the idea turns me off entirely.
“Do they know where you live?” I ask.
She takes another bite and looks up at me, this time her mouth too full to even try to speak.
“His goons,” I add.
She nods.
I clench my fingers tight around my fork. Poor O. I know exactly how she’s feeling—how difficult it is to feel powerless at the hands of a man. I’m suddenly drawn back to that awful night, and I can feel the police officer’s breath on the back of my neck before he spreads my legs open and forces himself onto me.
I want to tear off my skin or step into a fountain of acid.
I feel so dirty—so violated. I never told anyone about that night, especially not O. She’s already out of touch, devastated, even. I can’t add anything to her stress although it’s eating me alive.
My eyes are wide, and the fork’s metal handle is creating a groove in my palm.
They’re animals—all of them. It’s no wonder there’s a war starting. I want to make this right for her. I lick the spaghetti sauce off my fork, then lean forward and smirk at her.
“Let’s kill him,” I whisper
I can’t explain
why I said it, but I did. And there’s truth to my words, even though I let them spill from behind a smile.
Her first reaction is to stare at me, eyes wide. Then, the corner of her lips pull up, until finally, she bursts out laughing.
“Yeah, I like that idea,” she says, but she’s being playful.
I chuckle along with her, but my smile quickly vanishes, and a heavy weight fills the room. I can tell she’s picturing it.
It could be easy if done right.
CHAPTER 11 – GABRIEL
Gabriel – Present Day
What the fuck did you do?” I snap.
Adam quickly turns around, his face contorted with rage and his rifle pointed straight at my face.
“Back the fuck off, Gabby,” he says.
The kid is lying on his back with a pool of dark blood spreading out from under his ribs. He has long brown hair, and he’s as scrawny as a praying mantis. He’s wearing a ratty orange T-shirt with some dinosaur construction logo that looks like it’s too big for him. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and his lips open and close, but nothing comes out.
Under the construction logo is a puncture hole, right where the bullet went—right in his stomach. The kid’s sneakers squeak against the floor as his legs slide up and down like he’s trying to get away, but he doesn’t stand a chance. It’s like watching an injured insect attempt to run from some sadist holding a magnifying glass.
“He shot at me!” Adam says. “What the hell does it look like I did? I defended myself.”
Masterson steps forward, his big belly jiggling out in front of him. “Chief’s right. Almost shot me right here.” He points at his shoulder.
My eyes gravitate to the pistol beside the kid’s hand. He must have dropped it when he fell.
Adam notices me eyeing it, and he shakes his rifle that’s still pointed at me. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Are you gonna put him out of his misery, or do I have to?” I say.
Everyone’s staring at me, including Adam, who looks as confused as a poodle in a herd of sheep.
“He’ll die soon enough,” Adam snarls.
He’s trying to defend himself. Trying to get out of finishing what he started. He’s a goddamn coward. He can shoot at a kid, but when it comes time to actually killing him in cold blood, he can’t do it. Even if it’s to help him.
I step forward, but Adam tightens his grip on his rifle.
“The kid’s suffering, Adam!” I say.
His wheels are turning. He looks down at the kid, who’s now gargling massive amounts of blood, then back at me. He eyes Masterson a few times, then the other men. For the first time, Adam doesn’t look like a leader. He looks like a scared mouse.
I take another step. “You don’t have to be heartless, Adam. What if this was your kid? You shot him in the stomach. He’s bleeding internally. He’s scared right now, and he’s in excruciating pain. We don’t have the proper equipment to save him. All we can do is help him move on.”
I hate myself for even saying this. I’d never let someone die. In our modern world, he could be saved. A shot to the stomach is treatable if it hasn’t punctured any vital organs. But there’s no 911 service. There aren’t any ambulances or paramedics, and I’m no doctor. If we had a doctor, and a fully-supplied first aid kit, he might stand a chance.
But we don’t have any of that.
I can’t take it anymore. I can’t watch a kid suffer like this.
I move forward, knowing that Adam might shoot me, but it’s worth the risk. I pick up the pistol and aim it straight at his heart. Normally, I’d aim for the head, but I can’t disfigure a child like that. My stomach tightens, and I clench my jaw. His dark eyes roll toward me, almost pleading, and I fire the shot.
“Drop the gun!” Adam shouts.
He’s pointing it at me, even though I’m holding the pistol loosely by my side. I stare at the kid’s pale face, and all I can tell myself is that he’s in a better place. A better place than this hellhole.
“I said drop the fucking gun!”
I slowly turn toward him, gun down by my side. With my training, I’d have a bullet in between both his eyes before his finger pulled the trigger. But I’m not an idiot. I don’t know how many bullets are left in this gun. Certainly, not enough for the rest of the men.
“I’m not gonna hurt anyone, Adam. Relax,” I say and drop the gun against the tiled floor.
Adam jerks his chin toward the weapon and makes eye contact with Masterson, who rushes to my side, picks it up, and brings it to Adam like a dog with a stick. He slips it into the side of his belt, his hateful eyes still glued to me.
He’s upset that I defied him, but I had no other choice. I couldn’t sit there and watch that.
“Next time,” I say, “try to kill him with the first shot.”
My mother would be ashamed of me for even speaking those words. He shouldn’t have shot at the kid at all. But, like Masterson said, the kid shot at them. It was self-defense. I can’t stop Adam from shooting at anyone. The least I can do is hope he kills them on the spot rather than maiming them.
This isn’t the first time Adam has fired a shitty shot. I’ve seen men clasp at their chests or at their throats as we walked away. Adam left them there to suffer. God knows how long it took them to die… if they even died.
He ignores my comment and turns away. “Let’s keep moving.”
Everyone walks past me, except for Castor, who pats me on the shoulder.
“You okay, Gabe?”
He cringes, and his top lip is pulled back over what remains of his front teeth like I’m going to hit him or something. Like he’s scared of me. Or it could be he’s not as dumb as he looks and he knows I’m not okay.
He looks up at Adam and the other men, who seem to be making their way to the teachers’ lounge, then back at me. He leans in, his hot, rotten breath polluting my nose.
“Ignore Adam. He’s a jackass and he’ll get what’s comin’ to him.”
Gabriel – Flashback
We’re sitting in a giant auditorium, and the room fills with chatter. Uniformed men are everywhere. Some have rifles, others have crossed their arms over their chests. The walls around us are made of gray stone, and the ceiling is abnormally high.
The lighting is dim, with only pod lights illuminating the walkways between each aisle. The stage, however, is lit up. It almost looks like strobe lights are pointed directly at it. A bare microphone stands in the middle of the stage; dark red curtains hang behind it.
Dozens of men with slick, gelled hair and black suits are lined up in front of the stage and several dozen more patrol the walkways. It’s as though I’m in a movie. Like any minute, we’re going to be given the option to take a blue pill or a red pill.
James nudges me in the ribs. “You ready for this?”
Ready for what? I don’t even know what’s going on. He can tell I have no idea what to think.
“We finally get to be part of something bigger than us, Gabriel. We’re finally going to do something worth being proud of.”
But there’s an indescribable energy in the air. It doesn’t feel prideful at all. It feels dark and loathsome.
A man steps out onto the stage, and the entire auditorium goes disturbingly quiet. He’s wearing a black overcoat, black dress pants, black shoes that are shinier than his bald head, and a gold emblem pinned over his heart.
He’s a big guy. The kind of guy whose neck is so thick he has rolls at the back of his head. His beard is short and bristly, but I can’t make out any of his other features from this distance.
“Who is this guy?” I whisper, but James gives me a stern look that silently tells me to shut up.
The man in the suit with the golden emblem walks toward the microphone, the sound of his heels echoing at every step. He clears his throat, a deep rumble that echoes throughout the entire auditorium, then opens his mouth to talk.
“Welcome.” His voice is deep and rugged, the sort of voice someone
gets when they have a bad cold. But he doesn’t have a cold… that’s his voice.
“You’re here today because you have been hand selected to serve your country.”
Silence.
I expect people to applaud, but no one is moving. Everyone’s fixated on this man.
“As you all know, things have taken quite a turn for the worse these last few months. Riots have begun erupting throughout the United States, and governments are being overturned.”
He plucks the microphone out of its stand and paces across the stage.
“We’re at war, gentlemen.”
And when he says that, I realize something: there aren’t any women in here. At all. I know the military is male dominated, but I didn’t expect this. Is this what James was talking about? They’re removing women from powerful positions. They’re scared that because of this unexplained increase in the female population, women will take over.
But like my mama said to me when we were watching the news before I came here, “Men are so stupid. They think women want to take over the world. Women are nothing like men. We don’t want power. We want to live and enjoy life and all of its beauty.”
I never take offense when my mom insults men. I know where she’s coming from, and deep down, I know she’s right. As I look around the room, I’m reminded of exactly how far men will go to maintain control.
What did I get myself into? This wasn’t the type of mission I wanted.
The man in the suit clicks down on something, a remote of some kind, and the giant red curtains slide open. A transparent crystal globe is positioned on the stage, and it flickers a few times before a holographic screen appears overhead.
“In the next few days,” he goes on, “you’ll be witness to some of the most atrocious events that are currently taking place on our home soil.”
The video is choppy like something taken with an old cell phone, and it looks like a riot. There’s no sound, so it makes it hard to determine what’s going on. People are everywhere, both men and women, but mostly women. The camera bounces from left to right, like the person holding the camera is running.