by Drew Avera
The report of the gang violence wasn’t traced back to him, or me for that matter, but I knew he was capable of doing what happened. I would be lying if I said I was comfortable with the situation. Even having pseudo-control over the event, I felt powerless, the operative was in the wind and I was left in the dark. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. my intentions were for it to be intel-based only. Why would he go rogue like that?
The double-doors of the car slid open with a whooshing sound and I immediately felt the decompression of the sub-rail in my middle ear. It was disorienting at first, giving me a slight dizzy spell as I rose from my seat, grabbing the edge of the seat in front of me as I stood.
“Pontiff Scrimpshire, welcome to Clenist,” a voice said as I glanced out the right side where the open doors awaited my departure.
Micah stood grinning as if he was a kid at a surprise party. I was distracted by his boyish stance, both hands shoved into his pockets as his toothy grin looked painted on. I had seen many people display fake smiles in my life, and this was one of the ones which edged towards creepy. I wondered if it was intentional.
“Thank you,” I replied as I reached down to grab my overnight bag and slung it over my shoulder. He held his outstretched hand to me until I took it and shook. I was struck by how he overexerted his grip as if he wanted to challenge my manliness in some way. “Quite a grip you have there,” I said through my teeth, prompting him to hold my hand longer than necessary as flashes went off from the gathered media personnel. I would have felt embarrassed by it if it wasn’t grating on my nerves. Instead, I squeezed harder, matching his grip.
I swallowed back the flurry of expletives I wanted to release in his general direction, instead focusing on the next voice speaking my name.
“I’m so glad you made it, Pontiff Scrimpshire.”
I cut my eyes to the side and there she stood. Akran looked no different than the last time I laid eyes on her. Her beauty floored me for a moment, and I forgot to breathe, but only for a second before Micah dragged my attention back to him.
“The citizens here are enamored by your arrival, Pontiff Scrimpshire. We have a very detailed plan in place to display as much of Clenist’s beauty as you can stand during your stay. I hope your trip went well.” Micah’s words flowed like a gushing fountain and I barely recognized he ended with a statement resembling a question.
“It was fine. I enjoyed the quiet,” I replied, ushering light laughter from those gathered around. I half-wished I had asked Massa to tag along. Having a little backup would be nice. Especially after stepping into this barrage of a media crazed crowd all in my face.
“I do hope your schedule includes some downtime, Pontiff,” Akran interjected as she placed her hand on my arm. The gesture caught Micah’s attention with as much interest as mine. I hoped it was an intentional gesture, despite how dangerous it was. She was always flirtatious, and it wasn’t anything I wanted to hold against her. A part of me reflected back to those first moments we had with one another. That was how I would always remember her.
I swallowed hard before responding, making sure my voice didn’t crack as I spoke. “I was hoping to get a walk in your citrus orchards. I hear they are quite beautiful.”
“Indeed,” Micah replied, clamoring for my attention as if he needed it to breathe. I muffled the groan emanating from my lips as he shoved himself between me and Akran, demanding direct eye contact as he flashed another toothy grin. “We have so much planned for you and we are running out of daylight. Perhaps now is a good time to get started? Khari, take the Pontiff’s bags, please,” Micah ordered, his words a string of syllables running into one another like a pileup.
I never expected you to be so needy, I thought indignantly. There was no warning during previous conversations on the com, he always seemed levelheaded to me, independent. Perhaps I misjudged him severely.
The man I understood to be Khari took hold of my overnight back. “I’ll have this in your room for you, sir. It’s a pleasure meeting you.”
“You as well,” I replied before the chubby man darted off, disappearing behind the gathered masses. The crowd was so thick that it appeared as if he was absorbed by them.
“Shall we begin?” Micah asked as he placed a hand on my shoulder, his eyes boring into mine manically.
“Why not?” I replied, my voice noticeably devoid of enthusiasm no matter how hard I tried to fake it.
Why did I come here again, to get paraded around like someone’s new plaything? This is already a level of ridiculous that I can’t stand, I thought as I was led away to who knows where.
Thankfully, the tour wasn’t as painful as I expected.
Micah led the way to an electric cart capable of carrying eight of us. He insisted on driving while I sat in the front, listening to more than one person at a time pointing at disinteresting things as if they were somehow important. I tried my best to keep up, but eventually I had no choice but to retreat within myself and pretend to listen until something caught my attention.
“The Southern Sector is where we’ve had most of our issues lately. I’m pleased to say that we’ve had no more violence since the gang massacre a couple of weeks prior, though there is some evidence of occupancy late at night,” Micah said, his mentioning of the evening I believed Pollux to be responsible for drew me back to the moment.
“Did you find the perpetrators to the violence?” I asked.
“Only the unfortunate ones left to die,” A voice said behind me. I couldn’t remember the councilman’s name, but I was sure he introduced himself on the way to the cart.
“Any survivors?”
“One,” Micah said flippantly, “I asked for him to be interrogated, but somehow he has no memory of the event. He received heavy blunt force trauma to his head. The impact split his skull like a melon.” There was a noticeable amount of humor to the last statement which caught me as inappropriate. Micah seemed to notice when I cut my eyes towards him. “I mean, that’s what the report I received stated.”
“When was the last time anyone questioned him?” I didn’t know why I asked. I supposed it felt an appropriate response to the mystery of what really happened, and I hated speculation. I also hated knowing what happened and having to pretend to want answers to a mystery that hardly existed as far as I was concerned. I wondered if my deception was as noticeable as it felt.
“Our police had another interview with him a few days ago,” the unknown man replied behind me.
“It’s unfortunate the surveillance system was not operational. It would have made identifying the suspects that much easier. I would hate to investigate a crime with so little physical evidence.”
“I agree,” Micah said. “Perhaps you would like to see the area the violence took place? Maybe your skills as a policeman in your previous life can come to some use in aiding the investigation?”
I wanted to decline the invitation, but my morbid curiosity got to me. I hadn’t investigated crimes in years, but my ego needed the stroking, if nothing else. “Sure,” I said, “I’ll give it a shot.”
Twenty-Four
Pollux
Dark thoughts swirled in my mind like ink in water.
The longer I sat, legs crossed and trying to mediate myself into clarity, the harder it was to keep my focus away from what I knew was wrong. Where did these stray thoughts come from, and how long have I had them? Those questions permeating straight down into my core.
Still, the answer refused to reveal itself.
“Do you know why the Agency was created?” A voice that sounded just like mine spoke from behind me. I tried to move, but found myself paralyzed, not by fear, but by something squeezing tightly around my body, though there was nothing tangible there.
“We needed a way to control power, to elicit fear, to ensure the visions of the past made their way into the future.”
“Why are you telling me this?” My voice did not sound like my own, it felt distant and strained. Disembodied.
“You
need to know where you came from, Pollux. You were not designed to be the lapdog of one man. You were created with a purpose, in the vision of god if it consoles you to think that way.”
“There is no god. If there was, then people like you and I would not exist.” My words fell from my lips with enough conviction that it felt like a religious experience. Or it could have been the fear coursing through my body that caused my lips to quiver. I didn’t recall ever feeling so powerless. It was a drastic change from how I felt two weeks ago when I laid waste to those criminals. I remembered doing it, but my memory was more like watching it happen as an outsider.
“Contrary to your antiquated opinion, I don’t think god would limit himself in such a way. People like us keep creation interesting. We propel society forward. Besides, the only reason you truly believe that god does not exist is because they tell you what to believe. Where did free will go when it comes to faith? It was buried under a civilization held captive under domes. Why? Because people need to believe they are the ultimate source of divinity in the universe if they are to ever break free from our crystalline habitats.”
“Are you done talking?” I asked, “your religious rhetoric is as worn and tired as I am.” Truth be told, I was wearier than I let on, barely able to maintain what little composure I held. This could have been hell for all I knew, my life finally spent and my soul where it belonged.
My own weakness cringed at the thought as pacing footsteps sounded behind me.
I could tell by the clicking of his tongue that my words elicited a response from him. It was returned to me as a large fist striking me from behind. The force drove my chin into my chest causing me to bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood. The iron taste of it gave me something to focus on besides the pain. I knew better than to antagonize my captor, but it felt as if that was my only weapon. I was compelled to fight by any means necessary. Somehow, this was the only time I had clear enough vision to see that I was not as in control of myself as I once thought.
Hot breath fell onto the back of my neck as my captor leaned closer, whispering behind my ear. “Halem has come to Clenist and your purpose on this world is soon to be fulfilled. In mere hours, you will do exactly what I tell you. Do you understand?”
I nodded in response as a chorus of no’s echoes in my mind.
The metaphysical leash tightened like a noose. I was powerless once more as he gripped my shoulders as if he was laying on hands to pray away my sins.
But I knew better.
This wasn’t sanctity.
This was manipulation.
And I had no choice but to obey.
Twenty-Five
Akran
He just sat there with his typical stoic expression like nothing ever happened. How could he be that way after everything that went on between us?
Because what we did was wrong, I reminded myself. The stakes were never higher as we dove headfirst into one another those years ago. I was young and naïve. He was still heartbroken because of his wife, lonely, desperate. Hell, we were both desperate.
It cost us both in the end, and despite seeing his side of it, I couldn’t help feeling betrayed as Micah drove us between the linear rows of orange trees, talking the Pontiff’s ear off as if it would hold him higher in esteem. He didn’t know Halem like I did. All Micah was doing was driving a wedge, not just between he and Halem, but between me and Halem as well. The man knew enough about my past to know how to hurt both of us.
It was psychological warfare and I was unarmed, at least not armed enough to retaliate effectively. So instead, I took the hits quietly, pretending that Micah’s charade, and Halem’s avoidance of me weren’t taken personally. In my mind, my face was stone, but I couldn’t but wonder if it was a weak façade that they could see through and recognize the pain.
The truth was that I had prepared myself for this moment well in advance. I ran this scenario over in my head countless times since it was announced that Halem would come to Clenist. But obviously I wasn’t as prepared as I thought.
Or perhaps not a strong willed as I told myself I was.
“The orchard is beautiful,” Halem said as he glanced back to me. “I understand you were involved in the layout, Councilwoman Tyrel?”
He caught me off guard like a schoolgirl whose crush speaks to her for the first time. I cleared my throat before replying, not wanting my voice to crack, or sound like I sucked in helium in front of everyone. “I was on the board, sir. I wish I could take more credit than that because it is lovely. We can thank the lead architect, Moros, for the design. He was the lead for most of this sector.”
The ball is in your court, I thought, subconsciously resisting the urge to raise my eyebrows knowingly at him and his obvious efforts to break the ice with me. The glint in his eye suggested he was restraining himself as well and the fact chiseled away at the hardening of my heart that I tried to build up against him. My emotions felt like a hurricane brewing inside of me and I hated myself for it.
Why would you bend so easily to his will?
“I’m curious about the Southern Sector and the issue you’re having with the power grid. How are the repairs going?” Halem asked, directing his question to Micah while keeping an eye on me at the same time.
“Unfortunately, that’s the black eye of our little utopia,” Micah replied. “Whatever fried the power grid did substantial damage which is requiring a lot of manhours to repair. The work is about eighty-percent complete, which leaves us still syphoning power from the Eastern Sector during normal hours. Those who reside in the area are left with emergency power and some solar generators, but it isn’t enough to sustain us.” He turned the cart south and eyed Halem expectantly. “We’ve been struggling for a long time.”
“Eighty-percent is progress. What do you need to complete the project?” Halem asked, daring a glance back at me, his left eyebrow raised ever so slightly. I wished I could translate what was going on behind his blue eyes, but it had been long enough that I could no longer read him as well as I could when we were together.
If I was ever good at it at all.
“We have the funding you wired to us two weeks ago, but the work force is limited, and the union is doing everything it can to get in the way. It’s as if the state of emergency happening in the area does not warrant a bending of their rules to get the job completed.” Micah practically spat the words out as he drove, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the steering wheel. It was the first time I had seen this kind of conviction from him regarding the union, or the work going on in the Southern Sector. I didn’t need to read him to know he was putting on a show for Halem.
Desperate little fellow, I thought as I shook my head and glared out the side of the cart as the graffiti came into view outside some of the buildings. It was like entering a different world once we crossed the major intersection which served as a divider between the sectors.
I needed the distraction, though. I couldn’t stop myself from trying to catch every glimpse in Halem’s eyes when he looked back, and then second guess what each of those looks meant. I knew what I wanted them to mean, I craved his attention, and his affection.
It was stupid and I knew it.
“Akran, this is where you were attacked isn’t it?” Micah asked, stirring me.
I turned to see where he pointed and remembered the scene being much darker and terrifying. “It is,” I answered, my voice barely above a whisper as my chest tightened. It was the first time I was in the exact area the attack happened. Since then, I took a different route, and kept Roslyn close to me. I hated to inconvenience him, but I thought having him as protection would empower me. Instead, it kept me feeling like a victim.
“Stop the cart,” Halem directed. The sternness of his voice appeared to catch Micah off guard and the younger man hit the brakes harder than necessary, prompting grunts and groans from the other councilmembers in the cart. Once stopped, Halem climbed out and surveilled the area as he turned in small circles, looking from the gr
ound up to the tops of the buildings as if searching for something just out of sight.
“Any surveillance cameras in the area are inoperable after emergency power takes over at night,” Micah offered, leaving his seat on the cart to stand next to the Pontiff. He looked like a child clamoring for his father’s attention and it made me hate him because I knew that attention would take some away from me.
What is wrong with you? I pondered, trying to detach myself from my childish thoughts. Get it together before you embarrass yourself.
“How long before the Southern Sector reverts back to emergency power?” Halem asked. I watched as he drummed his fingers against his thigh, contemplating who knows what. I had seen that expression countless times, but this time it worried me.
“We have a few hours left, sir,” Micah answered. “Why do you ask?”
Halem hesitated, drawing a breath as he looked me dead in the eyes as if he was speaking only to me. “I want to see this place as it truly is; at its worst.”
Twenty-Six
Micah
Its worst, huh?
I fought back a smile as Halem volunteered himself to come out at night to experience the criminal side of Clenist in all of her magnificent glory. It was unexpected to say the least. In fact, it was almost idiotic for him to willingly put himself in danger’s way just to prove some point, either to himself, or to us. Then again, everything I ever heard about Pontiff Scrimpshire was that he was a “man’s man” whatever the hell that meant. From my point of view, it came across as if he craved attention, more accurately, he craved praise from others.