Transition

by Henry Charles Mishkoff

  “Why not?” Jillian demands, aghast. “Hey, look, if you want to become some kind of martyr, more power to you. But what about everybody else? What about me?”

  The headlights cast strange images through the curtains, creating horrible shadow pictures on the doors to the meeting room across the foyer. The shadows flicker in bizarre patterns as shapes move in front of the lights, reminding Jillian of the grotesque images she saw through those doors only a few hours ago.

  “Look,” she says, exasperated, “if you have some kind of cosmic hang-up about calling the police, fine, I’ll call them. If you had any goddamn cell service out here, I’d have called them already. Just tell me where the phone is.”

  “We have no phone here,” Nathan says. “But to respond to your question more fully, it is true that I would not call the police even if we had one. However, if we did have a phone, or if we did have cell service out here, you certainly would be free to call the police, if that were your wish. I do not attempt to set rules for other people.”

  “Well, that’s just great.” Jillian sighs disgustedly. “I don’t guess I should even bother asking you if you have any guns here, should I?”

  “You are free to ask whatever you’d like.”

  Smartass. “Do you?” she asks, warily. “Have any guns?”

  “We have no guns.”

  “You think this is real funny, don’t you?” Jillian says angrily. “I’m sitting here trying to figure out how I’m going to save my ass, and maybe yours too, and you think this is all a big joke.”

  “I find these events no more or less amusing than any other events.”

  Jillian throws her hands in the air in exasperation, stands up, and begins to pace back and forth in the foyer. Can they see me through the curtains? she wonders. She quickly sinks back down onto the stairs. “What do you think’s going on out there, anyway?” she asks, frustrated. “Do you have any idea? Aren’t you just the teeniest bit curious?”

  “I am not curious,” Nathan responds matter-of-factly. “But I do know what is going on.”

  “Do you think you might want to share that information with me? Or is it some kind of secret? Like your fucking ‘ceremony.’” Your fucking ceremony, maybe I should say.

  “There are many complex cross-currents interacting outside,” Nathan explains. “There are as many motivations as there are people. But basically: The people outside are townspeople, people who live in this area. They’re upset because one of their number joined our community several weeks ago. They have come out here because they want him to leave our world and rejoin theirs. That is the root of the conflict that is unfolding outside. An oversimplification, to be sure, but I believe that it offers the information that you seek.”

  “Jesus Christ, Nathan,” Jillian explodes. “How can you just sit here so calmly and analyze the situation like it was happening somewhere else? This is real, goddamn it. This isn’t some kind of stupid game. People may be getting hurt. People who depend on you to protect them. Aren’t you even going to try to help them?”

  “People have been hurting each other for thousands of years, Jillian, for as long as there have been people. There is little I can do to change that.”

  “Why do you have to wrap everything up in so much philosophical bullshit? There are real people out there. They’re your disciples, for God’s sake. And they’re in trouble. Why are you sitting in here talking to me? Why aren’t you out there using some of your ‘magic powers’ to do something about the situation? Your people need you, Nathan.”

  You’re scared, Nathan, Jillian thinks. That’s all there is to it. All this mystical mumbo-jumbo is just a smokescreen to disguise the fact that you’re scared shitless.

  “I will go outside when it is time,” Nathan announces, cryptically. “Although my doing so may not affect the situation as dramatically as you seem to think. You see, Jill, I have no magic powers, just…”

  Another shot tears through the night air. Again, Jillian jumps. Nathan continues speaking as if nothing had happened.

  “…just the same abilities as all human beings. I have no more magic than you have.”

  “Yeah, well, that doesn’t surprise me, but I bet your disciples believe that you’re some kind of wizard.”

  “They believe what they believe.”

  “And I’ll bet you don’t do anything to discourage them.”

  “I neither encourage nor discourage their beliefs. I tell them the truth. They believe what they believe.”

  I can’t believe I’m sitting here arguing with this asshole, Jillian thinks, while a bunch of rednecks are running around outside, probably fixing to kill us all. “What about the other people?” she demands. “Even if you’re not going to lift a finger to help your disciples, what about your guests? Sunshine said that people come from miles around to attend your little orgies. Don’t you feel any responsibility for their safety?”

  “They are not here,” Nathan says. “All of the others departed when the ceremony was complete.”

  “What about Sunshine’s parents? She said that they were coming with us tomorrow.” Oh, Jesus, Jillian remembers, Nathan’s coming with us tomorrow too, I forgot all about that.

  What a great fucking ride that’s going to be.

  If we get out of here alive.

  “Sunshine’s parents are staying with friends nearby. We have only one guest room here, and, as you know, it was already occupied. They did not believe that you would have wished to share the room with them, so they went to stay elsewhere.”

  Is that an attempt at humor? Jillian wonders. Pretty feeble, if it was.

  Nathan pauses and turns his head slightly, like a dog cocking his ear. Although it’s a nearly imperceptible movement, Jillian is surprised nonetheless, as it’s the first time that Nathan has shown any interest in what’s going on outside.

  “So,” she asks, “we’re the only ones left in the house?”

  “That is correct. All of the disciples are outside. You and I are inside. That is all.”

  “Disciples,” Jillian says, scornfully. “What a joke. I suppose it’s just a coincidence that you have twelve disciples? Or do you think that you’re Jesus?”

  “Jesus was Jesus,” Nathan explains. “I am Nathan. I am Jesus only in the sense that I am part of all people and all people are part of me. Other than that, I claim no special relationship to any other person, living or dead.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll bet that some of your disciples think you’re Jesus. Or God, or something.”

  “They believe…”

  “…what they believe, I get it.”

  From outside, a scream fractures the fragile air; it seems to come from directly on the other side of the window by which Nathan sits serenely. The scream is loud but short, sounding more like it’s caused by fright than by pain, and it’s followed by hoarse laughter.

  “Am I…” Jillian realizes that she’s whispering, clears her throat, and starts again. “Are we safe in here? I guess it’s safer in here than outside but…” She trails off.

  “Was that a rhetorical question,” Nathan asks, “or are you asking for my opinion?”

  “I’m just trying to figure out what to do, Nathan. Please…”

  She bites her lip. What am I doing? I can’t believe that I’m about to ask this nutball for help. Like he could really do anything.

  What the hell.

  She swallows hard.

  “Help me,” she begs. “Please, Nathan. I don’t want to get hurt. Not this close to the Olympics. Please.”

  “There is nothing that I can do,” Nathan replies. “You are ascribing to me powers that I do not possess, just as you accuse my disciples of doing. What will happen, will happen.”

  “But you know what’s going to happen, don’t you? It’s like somehow you knew that this was going to… oh, what am I saying?” she interrupts herself angrily. “Holy shit, for a minute there, I almost had myself believing that you could predict the future.”

  Nathan wa
s silent.

  “You can’t,” Jillian finally says, “can you? Predict the future, I mean.”

  “I can’t predict the future like a fortune teller, if that’s what you mean. But I do see patterns, and I see where they lead. I have no special powers. The patterns are there for all to see. Most people choose to ignore them. But the patterns only suggest the future, they do not predict it, not with any degree of certainty.”

  “And the patterns tell you what’s going to happen?”

  “If I hold a rock in the air and release it, I can predict that it will fall to the ground. Not because I am a fortune teller, but because I have observed that pattern many times before, and I know where it is likely to lead. Perhaps one day it will surprise me and rise into the air. There is no reason that it should not.”

  “No reason? What about gravity?”

  “Gravity is merely a description of the phenomenon, a name that we give it to disguise the fact that we do not understand it. It is simply something that we have seen happen and assume will continue to happen. Similarly, there are patterns of human behavior – patterns that may not be as obvious as gravity, but the patterns are there, and you can see them if you look for them.”

  “Did you know that this mess was going to happen tonight?”

  “I expected that something like this would happen, soon. I had no knowledge that these events would transpire tonight.”

  Reaching into a small, leather pouch that hangs from his belt, Nathan withdraws a small stone and holds it up for Jillian to see. Extending his arm, he holds the stone in the air with two fingers. He appears to be concentrating on the stone very deeply.

  Holy shit, Jillian thinks, he’s going to let go of that rock and it’s not going to fall. It’s going to stay right where it is, hanging suspended in the air. Or maybe it’ll rise up, bounce off the ceiling, fly around the room like a flying saucer. But it’s just some kind of trick; it’s got to be some kind of trick. I mean, it’s awfully convenient that he just happened to have that rock in his pocket…

  But when Nathan releases the stone, it falls to the floor and bounces a few times on the wooden floorboards before coming to rest.

  Goddamn it, Jillian thinks angrily. I must be really spooked. He really had me going there, I almost believed that he could make that rock fall up.

  “Sometimes,” Nathan says, “things are exactly as they seem.”

  Jillian closes her eyes and shakes her head. She has an uneasy feeling that she’s losing her grip on reality, like she’s having a bad dream in which nothing quite makes sense, nothing works the way that it’s supposed to work. And she can’t wake up.

  “Is anyone going to get hurt?” she asks, trying to hold onto something concrete. “I mean…” – Jesus, she thinks, I’m doing it again, I’m asking him like I think he knows – “… I mean, do you think that anyone’s going to get hurt tonight?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Is anyone… is anyone going to die?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You don’t seem to be overly concerned about it. I’ll bet you’d feel different if you were one of the people who was going to get killed.”

  “There is no reason to fear death. Without death, there is no life. A coin must have two sides. Can there be heads without tails?”

  They sit in silence. If only they had cell service out here, Jillian thinks. If only Daddy was here. If only I hadn’t agreed to stay in this fucking place. If only I’d have left earlier, when I saw what was going on. If only I’d never have left Texas. If only…

  Suddenly, in one, fluid motion, Nathan uncrosses his legs and stands up. Although it’s a smooth, graceful movement, with no rough edges, Jillian jumps, startled.

  “Where are you going? You’re not going outside, are you?”

  “Yes, I am going outside.”

  “But, why? They probably don’t even know you’re in here.” Please don’t leave me in here all alone, she thinks, but she doesn’t say anything.

  “It is time,” he says simply, and turns toward the door.

  “Jesus Christ.” Jillian jumps to her feet. “Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Calm down, she tells herself, as a surge of panic begins to bubble up inside her. “What should I do? Should I come outside with you? Jesus, I don’t want to get involved in that mess. I mean, it’s not even my fight, you know what I mean? I think I’ll stay inside, if that’s okay. They don’t even know I’m here, do they? And they’ve got to leave soon, don’t you think? I mean, it’s starting to get light out… oh God, listen to me, I’m just babbling…”

  I’m making a fool out of myself, she thinks. And then, angrily: Why should I care if I do make a fool out of myself in front of this fool? But I’ve got to get control of myself. I’ve got to. I can’t let myself go to pieces.

  She closes her eyes, swallows hard, takes a deep breath, and then opens her eyes again. Nathan is standing by the door, his hand on the knob, watching her with what Jillian thinks is an amused twinkle in his eye. Fuck you, she thinks. Twinkle on, little man. I don’t give a flying fuck what you think.

  “I’m going to stay in here,” she announces.

  “As you wish.”

  “Just give me a minute to get out of the way, will you? I don’t want them to see me when you open the door.” She scampers up the stairs, then she turns and looks over the railing into the foyer below. Nathan stares back up at her, expressionless. His amusement, if indeed it was ever there, is no longer in evidence.

  “Okay,” she says. And good luck, she wants to add, but she doesn’t. “I’m okay. You can go out now.” But I wish you wouldn’t, she thinks. Jesus, I sure as hell don’t want to be in here alone.

  Nathan nods up at her – more formal than a nod, perhaps a half-bow, as if this parting has some special, ritualistic significance.

  And then she does whisper, “Good luck,” but he’s already turned and opened the door. From her high perch, it appears to Jillian that a sudden beam of bright light frames Nathan like an unholy apparition. She’s been bracing herself for an onslaught of noise when Nathan opened the door, but his exit is greeted by complete silence – either he’s somehow selected a perfectly calm moment to make his exit, or his appearance at the door has hushed the unruly crowd.

  And then Nathan steps through the door, closing it gently behind him. The light that has been flooding into the foyer is cut as neatly as if someone has flipped a switch. Only the dim light from the window filters in through the curtains, leaving Jillian standing in the near darkness, feeling small and tired and so very, very alone.

  4.3.7: Sturdivant

  “It’s him!” Eddie shouts. “It’s him! It’s Nathan!”

  “Don’t look at him!” Billy screams. “Don’t look at his eyes! He can do stuff to you with his eyes!”

  In the darkness, someone guffaws. “His eyes! Holy shit, Billy, you’ve really lost it this time.” His ears, someone else says; don’t look at his ears. And watch out for his toenails, someone adds. Eddie giggles.

  The disciples crowd around Nathan, they coo his name, they touch his robe. To Billy’s amazement, one of them even gets down on all fours and kisses Nathan’s feet. Billy shakes his head in disgust. Carefully shielding his eyes with his hand, he circles around behind Nathan, pulls a greasy blue bandanna from the back pocket of his jeans, rolls it quickly into a thick strap, wraps it around Nathan’s head, and ties it in back.

  “You got his fucking nose, Billy,” someone laughs from the lawn. “He can still see you, but at least he can’t smell you anymore.”

  Billy curses and adjusts the bandanna. Don’t hurt him, one of the disciples begs. Why are you doing this? another asks, distraught. We love you. We mean you no harm, another volunteers.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Billy growls, as he tightens the knot behind Nathan’s head. “I got you now, little man,” he crows, satisfied with his work. “I got you right where I want you.”

  As if this were some kind of signal, the conspirators start to shuffle ou
t of the darkness. They gather at the foot of the porch steps where they stand and gawk at the disciples as if they were animals in a zoo.

  “What are we gonna do with them, Billy?”

  “Shit, we can do anything we want to.” Billy grabs Nathan’s arm and spins him around sharply; he inspects the bandanna carefully, as if checking for leaks. “Now that the head dude here can’t see anything,” he announces, “we can do any fucking thing that we want.”

  “Billy!” Stevie sounds upset. “You promised! You said you wouldn’t hurt anybody if I agreed to come with you, and I…”

  “Shut up, Stevie.”

  “Yeah.” Giggle. “Shut up, Stevie.”

  “But you promised!”

  “Stevie’s right, Billy,” Rollie points out. “We came out here to get him, and we got him, so let’s get the fuck out of here.” Yeah, someone grumbles, let’s go home. Let’s go down to the Federal and get some coffee, someone adds. Hell, someone else says, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m gonna head on back to the Ox and have myself another fucking beer.

  From his perch on the porch, Billy glowers down on the hooded assemblage. “Hey!” he yells. “Wait a minute, you guys. As long as we’re out here, why don’t we teach these assholes a lesson? I say we oughta make sure that they understand that we want them to get the fuck out of Sturdivant.” He looks down at his dubious cohorts. “Are you with me?” he yells, hoping to incite some enthusiasm.

  Ace laughs derisively. “And just exactly what do you suggest we do, Billy boy? Shoot them?”

  “Maybe.” There’s a gasp from the disciples, who have formed a tight knot off to the side, clustered behind the railing that encloses the porch. “Or maybe just rough them up a little. Or maybe have some fun with the girls. Hell, we don’t even have to get rough, these girls’ll put out for anybody. Maybe even for you, Ace.”

  Fuck you, Billy, Ace says, but not unhappily. Yeah, someone says, we oughta teach them a lesson, give them something to remember us by. Let them know that we don’t like their kind around here.

  “Come on, Billy,” Stevie pleads. “Let’s just go, okay?”