Transition

by Henry Charles Mishkoff

  “No shit.”

  “We were just trying to figure out what to do about it,” Jnana explains. “We were trying to decide,” she adds, seemingly more for the group’s benefit than for Jillian’s, “whether we should go wake Nathan.”

  Jillian rolls her eyes. “Did anybody think of taking a look and finding out what’s going on?” she asks, sarcastically. “I mean, I know that sounds a little drastic, but…”

  “That’s just what I was going to do,” Walker says quietly, and he turns and begins to walk slowly down the steps…

  “Walker…”

  “It’s alright, Jnana,” he calls back. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  But if that’s true, he wonders, as he walks across the foyer and reaches for the door, then why am I so scared?

  4.3.3: Sturdivant

  “What if they don’t come out?” Eddie giggles nervously.

  “They’ll come out.”

  BEEEEEEEEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP…

  “What if they call the police?”

  “What if you shut the fuck up?”

  BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP BEEP BEEP…

  “Billy! I think somebody’s at the door…”

  Even in the dim light, Billy can clearly see the outlines of Walker’s formidable figure as he steps out onto the porch.

  “What are we gonna do now, Billy?” Eddie whispers.

  “Now,” Billy explains, the glee rising in his voice, “now, it’s showtime!” And he reaches forward and turns the dial that controls the headlights, bathing Walker in a blinding sea of light. Instinctively, Walker raises a hand to shield his eyes.

  “Not enough,” Billy mumbles, and he twists the dial one more notch, turning on the truck’s high beams.

  “Who’s out there?” he hears Walker call hoarsely, and Billy relishes the fear in Walker’s voice. “What do you want?”

  The truck door creaks its usual complaint as Billy pushes it open. He eases himself out onto the lawn and slams the door behind him. Hitching his thumbs into his belt, taking his time, making sure that he always keeps the truck’s headlights directly behind him, Billy Barton begins to amble slowly toward the house, licking his lips in anticipation as he draws closer and closer to the big man on the front porch.

  4.3.4: Sturdivant

  To Walker, it appears that something is lumbering toward him. Something large and foreboding. Something surreal. Something surrounded by a garish halo of headlights. Something with a misshapen head.

  And then, in a flash, he knows who it is. Not that he can see very clearly – but even through the glare of the headlights, he recognizes the swaggering gait only too well.

  I guess I’ve been expecting this, Walker thinks, with a sigh. Not consciously, perhaps. But somewhere, deep inside, I knew that this was bound to happen sooner or later.

  And in a way, Chastity’s right: This is kind of a test. It’s easy to talk about love and non-violence out here on our secluded retreat when nobody’s threatening us. But now it looks like we’ll get a chance to see how well we perform under less than ideal conditions.

  It’s like we’re a bunch of raw recruits getting our first taste of battle.

  I just hope we survive.

  And I sure do wish that Nathan would come out, Walker thinks. He’d know what to do. He’d make everything alright, somehow. He always does. But if, in his wisdom, he wants us to handle this by ourselves… well, I just hope that we prove myself worthy of his trust.

  He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, and closes his eyes. I can barely see anything anyway, he thinks, so what difference does it make whether I keep my eyes open or not? He calls on his mantra, the sacred sound with which Nathan has invested him, and he initiates the mental process that will fill his mind with its soothing reverberations.

  He hears slow, heavy footsteps approaching him noisily on the stairs. They walk up to where he stands, and then they stop.

  Walker opens his eyes. He lowers his hand.

  “Hey, Kowalski,” Billy says, pleasantly, obviously enjoying himself. “Haven’t seen you around for a while. Whatcha been up to, big guy?”

  “Welcome to our home,” Walker says, desperately trying to keep his voice calm and under control. “Is there something that we can help you with?” Why is Billy wearing a bag over his head? Walker wonders. Does he really think that I don’t know who he is?

  And then a disquieting thought: What is Billy planning to do that makes it so important that we not recognize him?

  Muffled laughter drifts up from the lawn, and Walker realizes that Billy is not alone. And in fact, although he’s still largely blinded by the intense beams, Walker thinks that he can make out the shapes of a few people and several vehicles on the lawn. He fleetingly hopes that no one’s driven over the flower beds.

  “Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, there is something you can do for me, Kowalski.” Billy clears his throat noisily, as though he’s about to spit, but then he seems to think better of it as he realizes that it won’t work with the sack over his head. “We came out here to take Stevie home. So why don’t you run along like a good boy and go get Stevie and bring him out here, okay? Because if you don’t, we’re gonna take him anyway. And if we have to get rough, people could get hurt, if you know what I mean. And we wouldn’t want that to happen, now, would we?”

  “Stevie?” I knew that it was a mistake to let someone from the town join the ashram, Walker thinks. It made this kind of confrontation inevitable.

  But then, this kind of confrontation was probably inevitable sooner or later, anyway.

  “Yeah, Stevie,” Billy said. “Stevie Hutchinson. You know, light brown hair, a little taller than me, kinda skinny? The guy you kidnapped, remember? You know the guy I’m talking about? Well, we’ve come to take him back.”

  “I know who you mean,” Walker says. “His name’s Bhakti now. It means…”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck what it means, Kowalski. Don’t you hear what I’m saying? Hello? Anybody home in there? I said I want you to go get him and bring him out here.”

  What should I do? Walker wonders. Should I act like nothing’s wrong? Should I just go back into the house and say hey Bhakti, your old friend Billy’s here to see you? Or should I tell Billy that he can’t have Bhakti back? But that’s not my decision, that’s Bhakti’s, this really doesn’t concern me at all. But if I don’t do anything, they’re going to drag Bhakti away whether he wants to go or not, that’s for sure.

  What would Nathan do?

  “Are you listening to me, fat boy?”

  “Yes, Billy, I heard you.” Maybe if I use his name, Walker thinks, maybe if he realizes that I know who he is, maybe he’ll back off.

  “Then why are you still standing here?”

  “I’m… I’m thinking.”

  “Well, maybe this will help you think a little faster.” He turns his upper body as if he’s looking back over his shoulder, but then he swings quickly back again, and he’s locked his hands together with his arms outstretched stiffly, like a club, and he drives that club home into Walker’s soft belly.

  With a painful whoosh, Walker sinks to his knees. Tears come to his eyes. He feels dizzy, disoriented. His mantra flees.

  I could pick this punk up with one hand and throw him off the porch, Walker thinks. But I mustn’t. I mustn’t. Violence doesn’t cure violence. Violence begets more violence. I must try to defuse the situation by remaining non-violent, passive. I must…

  The fist that crashes into his jaw catches him completely off-guard. Losing his balance, he falls clumsily backward, still clutching his gut and gasping for air. His enormous bulk slams noisily into the wall of the house, missing the picture window by inches. He crumples slowly into a heap on the porch floor.

  “You know something, fat boy?” Billy says, as an appreciative chorus of cheers, jeers, honking horns, and flashing headlights rises behind him. “You need to get your boss to teach you his
trick about not feeling any pain. You look like you could use a lesson right about now, if you know what I mean.”

  “Walker!” The front door of the ashram flies open. Jnana and several of the other disciples rush out onto the porch. “Oh, Walker, are you alright?” Crouching anxiously by Walker’s inert form, Jnana cradles his head in her hands. “Walker, can you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” Walker mutters, barely audibly. “I’m okay. I’m…”

  “Don’t try to talk. Just be still for a few minutes. You’ll…”

  BLAM!

  The shot tears into the night. On the porch, someone screams.

  And Walker looks up to see Billy Barton standing on the porch, bathed in a halo of headlights, his hand high in the air, his gun smoking ominously in the harsh glow of the truck’s high beams.

  4.3.5: Sturdivant

  Slowly, Billy lowers his arm and surveys the white-robed figures who huddle on the porch, squinting back at him.

  Goddamn it, he thinks, that Sunshine chick, the one I messed with out in the field, she’s not here. And where’s Nathan? And…

  “Where’s Stevie?” he bellows. “I want him out here, now! Or the next shot goes right into fat boy’s belly.”

  The door opens slowly, and a few more robed figures step cautiously out into the headlit night. Good, Billy thinks, there’s Sunshine. She’s afraid to even look at me. She remembers me, that’s for sure; she’ll never forget me. He grins malevolently under his sack.

  This is great, he thinks, feeling glorious and strong.

  This is as good as it gets.

  And looky here: Who’s this guy walking out the door?

  “Holy shit, Stevie, you don’t look so good.” He looks stupid with his hair cut so short, Billy thinks, like a little kid with big ears. Well, it’ll grow back. “I mean, it’s good to see you, buddy, but you look like shit, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  If I didn’t know it was Stevie, Billy thinks, I might not have even recognized him. He’s so fucking skinny. But it doesn’t look like anything that a few burgers and some fries won’t fix up.

  And he looks so goddamn serious. He looks like… he looks like…

  He’s been brainwashed. God damn it, he’s been fucking brainwashed.

  Sons of bitches. They’ll pay for this, by God, they will.

  “It’s good to see you too, Billy,” Stevie says flatly. “What brings you out this way?”

  “We’ve come to take you back, Stevie,” Billy says, hoarsely. Christ, this is spooky. It’s like talking to a fucking zombie. “We’ve come to take you home.”

  “This is my home, Billy,” Stevie says, calmly. “I appreciate your concern, but you don’t need to worry about me. I’m very happy here, happier than I’ve ever been in my life. I have friends who love and understand me, and I’ve learned…”

  “They love you, do they? What does that mean, you fucked all of them? The guys, too? You haven’t turned queer on me, have you, Stevie boy?”

  Stevie is silent. I got to him that time, Billy thinks. Maybe if I can piss him off, the old Stevie will come out. And one thing that he’s good at, Billy knows, is pissing people off.

  “That was a terrible thing you did to Sunshine, Billy,” Stevie says, and Billy is pleased to see just the slightest gleam of anger flash in Stevie’s eyes. “Why do you wish us ill? We offer you nothing but love.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Billy… come on, she knew who you were. It wasn’t like she had never seen you before. Why do you deny it?”

  “Yeah, well, if you thought I did it, why didn’t you turn me in?” This is more than just idle curiosity. Billy has been expecting at least a half-hearted visit from the police, and he even prepared an alibi. The Sturdivant police, he suspects, would not investigate very thoroughly; like most of the other people in town, the cops are not overly fond of The Crazies, and they would be pleased at any incident that would tend to hasten their departure. But the men in blue never even called him in to question him, and he’s been puzzled.

  Stevie hesitates. “Nathan teaches us that seeking revenge doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t solve anything. It only breeds more revenge.”

  “Nathan says that?” Under his mask, Billy grins. Well, hell, he realizes, I guess we can do anything we want, it sounds like The Crazies ain’t gonna press charges no matter what we do. We probably don’t even need these sacks. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to leave them on.

  “What about you, Stevie boy?” he inquires solicitously. “Which way did you vote? You didn’t want your old buddy to serve hard time just for laying some pipe, did you? Not that I’m saying I did it, you understand…”

  Although Stevie seems to be trying not to let it show, his expression gives him away. “We don’t vote,” he says, avoiding the question. “Nathan makes all the decisions for us. He’s a fully enlightened being, you know. We obey him without question. None of us are worthy to…”

  “Hey, spare us the bullshit, would you, Stevie?” one of the other hooded figures says, impatiently. “And quit stalling. You’re coming back to town with us, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “No, Ace.” Stevie shakes his head. “I don’t belong in Sturdivant anymore. I belong here. I’m not Stevie, I’m Bhakti. Don’t you understand that? Can’t you see that I’ve changed? Can’t all of you see that? The Stevie Hutchinson you knew is gone, just as surely as if he were dead and buried. I don’t mourn his passing, and you shouldn’t either. He was a pathetic, lonely creature, with nothing to…”

  “Stevie, let me make it real simple for you, okay?” Billy turns his head and hikes up the fringe of his sack so he can spit. He steps closer. “Here’s the way it’s gonna be. You’re gonna climb into my truck, and we’re gonna head on back into town. You don’t give me a hard time, maybe nobody gets hurt. Maybe. You do give me a hard time, maybe lots of your little buddies get hurt, maybe all of them. Maybe they get themselves killed, I don’t know, it’s hard to say. And then you’re coming back into town anyway. So you are coming with us, Stevie boy, it’s just a matter of how. Get it?”

  “I… I….” Stevie turns and glances over his shoulder. Eleven anxious faces stare back at him. “Billy,” he pleads, “be reasonable. You’re making a big mistake. You just don’t understand…”

  “Decide, Stevie. Or we’ll decide for you.”

  “I…” Stevie stops, takes a deep breath, looks behind him again, looks up at the house, turns back and looks at Billy for a second, shudders, looks at the ground, sighs, and looks back up. “I guess I’ll go with you,” he says. “I’ll have to talk it over with Nathan, of course, but I think he’ll…”

  “Nathan? Old stone-balls himself? Where is the old guy, anyway? I was kinda looking forward to me and him having a little chat, sorta renewing our acquaintance, if you know what I mean.” Billy laughs. “Where is he? Is he still in the house? Or did he run out the back door and leave you and your buddies to do his dirty work?”

  “I suppose he’s in the house.” Stevie smiles, which Billy tries to ignore, because it creeps him out. “He was here earlier this evening, and I guess that he still is. But you can never tell with Nathan, Billy. That’s one of the remarkable things about him. You can never predict where he’s going to be or what he’s going to do or…”

  “Sounds like a real dependable guy, if you ask me.”

  “No, you don’t understand…”

  “The only thing I don’t understand, Stevie, is where the fuck is he? I mean, is he just a real sound sleeper? Is that what you think? You think maybe he snores so loud that he didn’t hear what’s going on out here? Or do you think that maybe he had a little accident in his pants and he’s in there trying to clean himself up so he won’t smell so bad?”

  Ignoring the provocation, Stevie continues to smile. “Nathan will be here when we need him,” he says, with the pure faith of a true believer and the simple confidence of a recent convert. “Nathan is always here when w
e need him,” he adds. “Always,” he repeats, with a calm certainty that Billy finds to be more than a trifle disconcerting. “You’ll see.”

  “Well,” says Billy, snorting derisively to disguise his jitters, “don’t you think maybe he oughta get his ass out here pretty quick? Because it looks to me like you folks could use some help right about now.”

  “C’mon, Billy,” one of the hooded figures behind him says. “Stevie said he’d come with us. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  “Soon,” Billy says. “Real soon.”

  “Why not right now? What are we waiting for? Shit, it’s almost daylight.”

  Billy shakes his head. “You girls can go on back into town if you want to,” he says. “I gotta find the head man. Gotta have me a little talk with him before I head on outta here.”

  “Oh, shit, Billy. We got what we came out here for. What’s so goddamn important about this Nathan dude, anyway? You got the hots for him, or something?”

  “Him and me,” Billy says quietly, “we got some unfinished business to attend to.” Again, he raises the edge of his sack so he can spit. “And it looks to me,” he adds, “like right now is a damn good time to finish it.”

  4.3.6: Sturdivant

  “Did anybody call the police? How long does it take them to get here?”

  Jillian sits on the second step of the curving staircase, her feet resting on the floor of the foyer, her elbows on her knees, her chin on the heels of her hands. Across the small room, on the broad, rough bench that stands against the wall between the outside door and the large, curtained window, sits Nathan, his legs crossed in front of him in the traditional lotus position, his palms resting on his knees.

  “Nobody has called the police,” Nathan says, serenely. He seems to be listening with detached interest to the events that are transpiring on the other side of the wall against which he sits. Even the startling blast of the gunshot, which had made Jillian jump and swear, had caused no visible change in Nathan’s demeanor.