The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy)

by T. S. Seley Elliott

  “We, um, know some of the same people – I heard you recently left the Air Force and that you’re probably traveling and I would really like to talk to you. I’m not a salesman,” adding after a pause, “Well, you might say I’m a friend. Please call me at your convenience!”

  Now that was strange, she thought, waiting for the fourth and final message. It was James’ second message. The call came a few hours after the first, containing the “follow up” information. He hoped she was OK and he wanted her to text when she could. He didn’t want to get into details, but he’d bought a plane ticket for her to fly from Omaha to New York, departing late the next day; he didn’t know if she’d taken a detour, so he built in extra time. He would meet her in New York.

  “There’s a lot more to this, Johnnie, and I need you to trust me. I just want to make sure you have back up before you see Mom. Let me know right away if this is a problem. You can leave your truck at my house, and you’ll have a ride to the airport. I also left some cash in case you need it. Let me hear from you!”

  The call ended, but as she had at Lisa’s house so long ago, she kept the phone to her ear for just a moment so she could process the call before having to have “the talk” with her new group of cronies. What in the hell was James doing? It must be important because this was more than they had communicated in months.

  There was a problem with his plan, however, and the problem was now shoving her head against Johnnie’s free hand; she leaned down as Betsy gave her a dazzling smile. She had the remnants of a fried onion tangled amidst the slobber on the side of her mouth, but other than that, Johnnie thought she was lovely. Her brother’s plan seemed legit and he must have his reasons…but so was her need to care for this three-legged prodigy. A prodigy with the heroic tendencies she had yet to learn. With no further thought, squatted and nuzzled the slimy face.

  “Ever been on an airplane?”

  Johnnie and Betsy had followed their new group of friends to an area away from the rides, tents and shows; it appeared to be the equivalent of a break area for Bachweister employees.

  Although the sun had set, they settled under a pitched awning and sat around a battered picnic table. Small lights were strung randomly around the entire area creating just enough light to see one another, but little enough to add even more mystique to the otherworld of carnivals and circuses; the one that never seems quite real to outsiders.

  Johnnie wanted to call James… and really wanted to leave and get to his house before midnight, but unlike after her previous blackouts when she had desired as few details as possible, she needed information now. Besides, it would have been rude to leave suddenly in the light of Betsy’s new homies’ hospitality. They’d made sure Johnnie had food, fortunately not from a bucket as had Betsy, but she suspected the proportions and content on her Styrofoam plates were identical to the dog’s feast.

  Once at the table, plastic fork poised, she looked at them and said, “Well?”

  Almost as if a gun had fired to signify the start of a race, the story ensued. The Reader’s Digest version of this particular incident, would be that she and Betsy had apparently thwarted a child molester in action. Not just any child molester, but one who had trailed the show through the last few stops, causing very zealous scrutiny of Bachweister employees by law enforcement agencies.

  Loretta, who still looked way more like a man to Johnnie, with the shaven head and full-skin tattoo, started the tale of how she had been walking across the midway when she first saw Johnnie and Betsy. The only reason she even noticed the man and child was because she was focusing on the three-legged dog. When the dog nearly pulled away from her owner to get at the man, Loretta said she looked over and immediately knew what was happening.

  “I remember that!” Johnnie blurted, as she instantaneously recalled the exact scene, only she remembered she’d assumed the man was dealing with a spoiled child. This was the first time she had any memory this close to the start of an incident…

  Loretta looked at her oddly, not so much because she’d been interrupted, but probably because it only stood to reason that Johnnie would remember it.

  “Yeah, and I remember breakfast this morning…but that’s not quite the point she was making…” This sarcastic statement came from Arnold, who, seated at the table, didn’t look quite as small among his friends. He was apparently anxious for the story to continue; the justification for that would soon be apparent.

  Embarrassed now, Johnnie said, “Oh…sorry, but, well, I’ll explain in a minute…but I tend to, well, go away sometimes…” They all looked at her as if she was the weird one, but Loretta apparently accepted the apology and continued the story. Before today, they had all had their eyes peeled for the culprit since he had struck at a few different shows, and especially because it had cast them all under suspicion. Once Loretta gathered that Betsy and Johnnie initially had the abduction situation “under control,” (for reasons Johnnie had yet to understand) she ran to get Arnold who, although small, was incredibly strong. Besides, he had a soft spot for the little ones.

  Based on earlier comments that Betsy was the heroine, Johnnie suddenly surmised that the typically mild dog had gotten away from her and subdued the man. What a relief, she thought to herself; a mental leap from woman-molester to child-molester was a short one and she had been afraid this would mirror her situation with Jeff. She now envisioned Betsy cornering the man while she must have nabbed the child. Perfect.

  She reached down and affectionately tugged Betsy’s ear.

  “Good Girl…. You kicked the bad guy’s ass, huh?” Once more, the gang looked at her as if she needed to sell tickets for her condition; Arnold spoke first.

  “Are you kidding, Lady? YOU had the dude pinned, and Tri-Pod here pulled the half-pint away from him by grabbing her skirt and pretty much leading her away.”

  The emotional weight dropped like a wet mattress on Johnnie’s mood. Rubbing her face, she said, “Let me guess…he said I saved him, right?” This was a recurring nightmare.

  They all laughed, thinking she was joking. Arnold spared no time retorting, “Are you shitting me? When I came running to save the day, he took one look at me and begged me to get him the hell away from you. I thought he was just bullshitting to distract me, so I moved you away…you were, well, like transfixed or something…and I head-butted him in the balls and he went down. Once I had him pinned, all he would do is tell me to keep you away from him.”

  Johnnie stared at the small man, completely perplexed.

  “He was afraid of me?”

  Fore piped in now.

  “Dude, he said you had to be some kind of holy messenger and you were going to kill him with your power…” With that, he wiggled his fingers in the air, as if to signifying something magic.

  “We just figured he was crazy…but you did have some kind of hold on him.” Fore, the only other eyewitness besides Loretta and Arnold had apparently come running on Arnold’s heels to provide back-up. But the little man obviously didn’t need any.

  “Well… um. What did I do then?…I honestly don’t remember much about it. It happens.” She added helplessly, palms in the air with a shrug.

  Things got a little awkward at this point…only less so for Johnnie than the group around the table. They peered at each other, avoiding eye contact with Johnnie. She looked around the table at each face. Although she couldn’t exactly read Loretta or Jack’s expressions due to tattoos and, well, hairiness, she noticed the others shared a similar look. It was one of guilt.

  Finally, Gunter, who Johnnie had taken as the informal leader in the group, spoke up. He had been lifted onto the bench, so now his legless state was invisible and he sat/stood in a posture equal to the others. And he spoke normally… the whole weird faux European-accent-maybe-speech-impediment thing was gone.

  “Look… we need to level with you.” Johnnie’s surprised expression when he spoke made him pause.

  “OK, first…the accent – it’s part of my persona. Just having
no legs wasn’t quite exotic enough to make the cut around here for the customers, the accent thing is more what someone would expect from a guy that runs an outfit like this.” Oh, Johnnie thought, he was more than just the informal leader. He continued as if he’d explained a basic business principal to a novice.

  “Second, after Arnold nailed the guy in the nads, you just kind of started walking away. The parents came running and grabbed the kid, so the dog followed you. By the time the cops showed, it was just us, the Bachweister family, subduing the guy. And, third, by the time the cops cuffed him, he was spewing everything he’d done, even before he hit our show, confessing in trade for keeping him away from that Avenging Angel…” He looked at her, somewhat inconsequentially, not realizing the power of the term to Johnnie.

  “Guess he meant you.” He breathed in sharply and scanned the table at the worried faces…including the faces that could not be seen, short of the worried eyes.

  “Look, the bottom line is, contrary to what Flatties believe, we’re pretty good people. We have our principals.”

  “Flatties?” Johnnie asked, although she was more confused by the tone of the conversation than the term.

  “Oh---old circus talk. That’s a word for people like you. Well, for people who aren’t us.”

  She nodded. Then said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

  “Lady, Loretta already told you that this guy was following our show, doing his deeds, and we were all under the eye of the cops. We have enough trouble with keeping a good reputation anyway.” He looked her in the eye, folding his hands on the table, when Jack, the Seinfeld wolf-man blurted, “Lady, we took complete credit for catching this guy. It’s all the cops know because they think the whole Angel Avenger thing is horseshit.” His face was concealed, but he shot a guilty look at Gunter for interrupting the boss’ more diplomatic delivery. Gunter was not fettered, however. In fact, he nodded at Jack, then looked at Johnnie, hands up, wrists bent back in a “there you have it” gesture.

  That was it? Johnnie thought jubilantly… they were having a cow because they took credit? And all she wanted was to be out of the limelight. She shocked them all by breaking into a grin and pumping her fist in the air.

  “You guys rock! That’s great. The good guys win. Woo Hoo!” She suddenly had an appetite and dug into her food. The crew leaned back and watched her without a word. Berta finally broke the silence by stroking her beard and saying, “And we’re the weird ones?”

  Johnnie stopped and looked at the strangest company she’d ever kept. She swallowed a mouthful of chorizo and lay down her fork, recalling the sign hailing these people as extraordinary rarities of a less than human nature. They were indeed rare, but she found absolutely nothing lacking in their human nature.

  In fact, she felt more at home than she had in a while… She was so touched by their concern about “stealing credit” and their urgency to fess up to her that she suddenly felt dishonest herself. She felt unworthy. Her own emotion overwhelmed her situational awareness when she blurted, to the unlikeliest of audiences, “I’m a freak.”

  Her self-condemnation was completely sincere and she gave no thought of the power of the term on this particular group. This particular group had seen a lot of things in their lives and had endured much. But at this moment, their experience left them unprepared and they were speechless as they stared at, possibly, the most average example of a non-freak they could have conjured.

  Loretta finally spoke for them all, when through the ink, she uttered a simple, “Excuse me?”

  And as simple as that, for the second time now, Johnnie spilled her guts…only this time she told the whole entire story, starting with her perfect career and how it had careened following the day of the accident. And this time she included everything she had omitted from Dr. Benson and all that had happened since…the tale of Jeff the would-be rapist, Col Roger Sanders and her fears that she may have been responsible for his death…her absolute certainty that something had happened in Elko, but not knowing what. She threw in the harbinger-like coincidences that kept occurring. If there was ever a time in her life she thought she could be forthright and free of judgment, it was with this group of social outcasts who seemed to possess the soundest hearts she’d ever sensed.

  The Jerod Stasses of the world could learn a lot from these people.

  And they showed, in perfect form, that she did not misplace her trust…a trust that was typically so well guarded. They listened.

  And she talked. She cried till she hiccupped, she would occasionally dry up into a defensive bravado only to break down again. At some point in time, Fore disappeared and returned with not one, but two beers, which she downed because, for the first time in weeks, she felt she was in safe company. And it was divine.

  Finally she said, sniffing. “Look at me! An angel? A savior? Do I look like an avenging angel, for God’s sake?”

  Taking her in, they all shook their heads in solemn agreement; she had a point. Strong Arnold, ball-buster of child molesters, hopped off the bench, circled the table and gave her a hug as they all started laughing at the image of this wild haired, red-nosed young woman representing any of the suggested terms. They laughed even harder when Gunter, with a totally straight face, sized up Betsy and Johnnie and asked if they needed a job.

  More beer flowed and they settled in like family as the sounds of the carnival died down in the distance. As if to demonstrate to her that everyone had uninvited burdens, they all told their own stories…of course, their tales mostly spanned lifetimes, which they assumed was not her case.

  While Loretta had obviously chosen her oddity, the addition of gallons of ink which permeated her skin actually began in an effort to cover scars from abuse. She liked the ink better. Arnold was clearly born as he was, and he responded to Johnnie’s honest query with, “I’m OK with ‘little person’ or even dwarf…not a fan of ‘midget’… although ‘Arnold’ is best.”

  Berta never really knew why she had facial hair, and didn’t care. Oddly, she was so drop-dead gorgeous that she preferred the response of others to her appearance with a beard. This was mostly due to the insincere womanizing approaches she’d endured from men since her early development at the age of twelve.

  “At least this way, when they look at me, it’s my eyes, not my boobs or ass….even if they look at my eyes to not look at this!” She said, defiantly tugging on her ZZ-Top chin-locks.

  Jack was born with Congenital Generalized Hypertrichosis….the rare “wolf man disease.” He told her there were types of treatment his parents just hadn’t been able to afford. They dealt with it the only way they knew; they isolated him from the scrutiny of the world. He thought he was the only one till he saw a show late at night highlighting someone just like him.

  “This?” he told her gesturing to the area around them, “this beats the snot out of the isolation…I have great friends and good job security.” He took a swig of his beer, accepting a slug from Berta.

  Fore’s story was most unique, by Johnnie’s respectful estimation. He had been born perfectly normal, as far as he knew, and worked at a golf course as a boy. While tidying the greens one day, he had seen a stray branch near the 9th hole. Unaware that a golfer with a powerful swing had just sent a shot to the 9th, he leaned for the debris located right next to the cup. Sadly, he turned his head at the precise moment necessary to accept the incoming golf ball, like a bullet, into his forehead. Had he not had a thin frontal bone in his forehead, it may have been a simple head injury. But poor Ralph-his given name-was already doomed. As the story went, the ball had to be surgically removed from his caved forehead…lack of medical insurance prevented further treatment, to include cosmetic surgery. He was known here as Craterhead, but among his friends he was simply, “Fore.”

  His name was not due to the location of his injury, but more because the golfer, in his own defense, swore he had indeed cried “Fore!” when executing the drive, which he’d lamented, would have b
een a hole-in-one.

  Stories told, they all sat in the dim light with empty beer cups when Gunter looked across the splintered surface at Johnnie.

  “Why do you assume you’re the only one?”

  She looked at him, not sure how to answer. After clearing her throat, she said, “Well I’ve never heard of this kind of thing, exactly, and I don’t even know what I am anyway.”

  The others looked knowingly at one another; they understood what Gunter was getting at. Jack furthered the point. “Wow. That’s what I used to think…almost exactly.” His dark eyes looked at her through port holes in his furry face.

  Johnnie was dumbfounded, and although she appreciated their analogy, she felt her plight was just a tad different, and politely told them so.

  Gunter, obviously a man whose feathers were not easily ruffled, said, “Well, that is probably true, but in a way, I guess we all provide escapes to others because of what we do or what we are…and we all understand why you feel isolated. But maybe you need to ask yourself why you think it’s bad, this thing. We found out that most of the time what we think has nothing to do with how it is.”

  “But I never asked for it, and I can’t control it!” she countered, in frustration, before realizing that, again, those were things with which they all likely related.

  Berta, ever feminine, leaned across the table, placing her perfectly manicured hand across Johnnie’s. “Whoever said you ever had a say, even before this? I mean, really? Were you calling the shots before? And control? It’s overrated. You don’t even realize that your curse may be a blessing.”

  In his private quarters, President Liang had transformed to Wing Liang. His suit hung shapeless on the back of a chair and he sat in Dockers and a polo shirt on a leather divan. He was alone in more ways than one. In one fell swoop, with his address yesterday, he’d built a wall between himself and his closest advisors…while his departure from the prepared and advised speech was intentional, the resulting isolation was collateral damage.