D.O.A.

by Charlie Thomas King

  “How the fuck you know all that shit anyway?”

  “That Bible shit?”

  “Yeah, the Bible shit.”

  “You know I grew up in church.”

  “So? I still go to church. I don’t know what the fuck it says about taking a dump in some obscure passage of Deuteronomy.”

  Max shook his head, “That’s sorta the problem with most Christians. They don’t even know their own book. Me, though, I was really into it. I even wanted to be a youth pastor at one time. You know that? I ever tell you that?”

  “I don’t think so. Damn,” James said furrowing his eyebrows.

  “Yeah. Never happened though.”

  “But then how'd you become… an atheist?”

  “You say it like it's a dirty word.” Max leaned his lower back on the flat trunk of the Mini, lifted one of his feet, adorned in beige cross trainers with a flash of red, and put it against the bumper.

  James ran both hands through his hair, returned them afterwards to his front pockets.

  “Sometimes I worry my faith in God died with my mom.”

  “Sorry about your mom. You shouldn’t let things like that affect what you believe to be the truth, though.”

  “That’s kinda the very definition of a faith crisis, Max. You should know.”

  Max cocked his head, looked James dead in the face, “I would know no such thing. I’m not an atheist as a product of a faith crisis. My faith didn’t get hit; my belief did. My faith simply showed up dead one day as a result.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “There’s a difference between believing and trusting.” He clicked the top of his tea a few times, took a sip. “Can’t trust in something you don’t believe exists. That’s not crisis. It just is.”

  James bit at his inner cheek, thinking for a moment. “Right.”

  “You say that what happened to you is affecting the way you feel about your god. I’ve been trying to get you to realize your god doesn’t exist.”

  “You really don’t believe God exists?”

  Max smiled, “That’s kinda the very definition of an atheist.”

  “Touché. But damn. I always just kinda figured you were mad at him.”

  “Most Christians do. Even when I tell them that you can’t be mad at someone who’s not there.”

  James grunted and said, “Right, belief and trust and all that.”

  Locke took a long pull at the rim of his cup before responding. Only said yup when he did.

  James looked down at his still bouncing feet. “Was it because he didn't show up when you needed him? Or because he showed up when you didn't want him to show up?”

  Locke rubbed his face with his free hand, lingered around the scruffy shadow forming on his chin. He clicked the top of his thermos a few times again, with patent aggression.

  “You’re still stuck in the wrong direction no matter how many ways I repeat myself. Let's make sure this is finally clear. Please. I'm not one of those pussies who stops believing because God did something in a way I don't like. And don't let me catch you doing that shit either. Facts are facts, James. That's why I don't believe. He’s not real.”

  “How can you be so sure, though?” James asked, unwittingly, yet obviously shifting gears into evangelism mode.

  “Stop that shit right now.” Locke put his foot down, but remained leaning against the trunk. “He didn't do that shit to your family, James. I'm really sorry that shit happened. Really sorry. But it happened because it did. Not because a magic being made it to happen, or didn’t stop it from happening.”

  James jerked his head, looked his partner in the eyes, captivated. “But seriously, how can you be so sure?” He meant it for real this time.

  “Burden of proof lies with you, my friend. Don't pretend it doesn't.”

  “I…” James muttered, looked tortured as he considered it.

  Max took a step off his Mini, moved his drink low, looked James in the eyes.

  “Look around you, James. This god of yours, it created all this? Science has shown us practically everything. If your god exists, he’s little more than a switch flipper, or worse.”

  James grimaced. “That's a little bit simplistic… and hyperbolic now, isn't it? A switch flipper?”

  “Yes. The studies are there. We can trace the entire cosmos back to the moment it exploded into being.”

  “The Big Bang. Seriously? You’re going there?” James smirked knowingly, waved his friend off.

  “Fine. Maybe that’s not it. Maybe we’ll find out a better explanation than that one day. But the whole God of the Bible shit? You really think that’s the better explanation, that it makes more sense?”

  James rolled his eyes. “Yeah. And I don't think it. It's just the truth. Absolute truth. There can only be one absolute truth, Max.”

  “Ah, Christianese at its finest. One truth. And you’ve found it. James. Let's be real. You're a cop. You see life. You see it for its worst, its lowest possibilities. Don't tell me a god made this. If we're evolving, then fine, but let’s get past this. I have hope for us.”

  “But if God?”

  “There isn't. But if what you say is true? He's an asshole. Your god, that OT mother fucker? Jealous and boastful about it? Controlling down to the last detail, bloodthirsty mother fucker who asks ‘his people’ to bash in babies’ heads, rip pregnant women to pieces, and even gives them license to rape? Fucking rape, James. According to your book, your god condoned all that shit.”

  James clenched his fists, bit down hard and glared.

  “You don't agree?”

  “That's a caricature! You're missing the reasons and the fact that Jesus came -“

  “The fuck?” Locke cut him off. “Jesus? One; God shows up in the flesh and he doesn't plainly say it? I'm not talking about that one fucking verse that you guys cling to like a Hail fuckin’ Mary. I'm talking about, speak, Jesus, speak. Explain your fucking shit. And while you're at it, how about telling the twelve dickheads surrounding you not to start a religion that'll imprison, torture and persecute people - in your name.”

  “Those were people who went the wrong way; they weren’t paying close enough attention. He shouldn't have had to explain. If they'd have listened to the Spirit, then -“

  “Oh man, here's the part that was first to go for me. Even when I still was a believer.”

  “You didn't believe in the Spirit?”

  “Sure, initially. Then I broke things down. I still believed in a spirit of some kind. But you’re talking about something not even the Jews believed in, right?”

  “The Trinity?”

  “Yes, the Trinity. Really, James. Have you truly considered that whole bullshit?” Max shook his head and steadied himself, stood up straight. “Why is it that your Jesus didn't explain that, either?”

  The discomfort was obvious. James rocked on his feet, his gaze darting everywhere except for Max’s heated face.

  “No. Really, James. Explain this god who's three but really one. Because that isn't ancient paganism thrown in. Because there aren’t a million different religions out there that came first and obviously influenced and evolved the Judeo-Christian belief system. Tell me another one. How about the virgin mother? Even though none of the earliest books or even any of Paul’s shit says a goddamned thing about such a cock-eyed event.”

  “Fuck, bro,” James whipped his head towards his friend, “You know too much.”

  “Fucking right I do.”

  James looked down at his still rocking feet, stopped and planted them. “This shit. Ugh, it's faith, bro.”

  “Your faith that’s wavering so? That shit is distorting reality, James.”

  They both glared at each other.

  Max sighed. “It did for me too, at one time,” he said, settling down. He took a sip of tea, had to bring the bottom high. “Running low.”

  “I see reality better than you do.”

  “Ya know, the sickest part of that is that it isn't condescending. That's genu
ine.”

  “Yeah, it is,” James said, somewhat disheartened.

  Max stepped up onto the sidewalk, stared up at the cross. “You guys scare the hell outta me, James. This religion of yours was good once. It helped. Goddamn, prayer was our first fucking form of healthcare. But now? Now it’s time for humanity to leave the fairy tales behind and fucking move forward. But you won't fully understand that until you're free. I didn't. Not until….”

  James rummaged in his back pocket, played with his keys while he spoke, “I’m sorry, Locke, it’s just... Can we maybe not talk about this? As if I'm not under enough stress right now, I mean.”

  “Sure, bro,” he said, never taking his eyes off the cross. “I'm sorry. I really am,” Max said, stepping off the walk towards his partner. He put his free hand on James’ shoulder. “I really am sorry.”

  “Come on, it's cool.”

  There was a moment of silence, recognition between the two. James broke the quiet.

  “You wanna grab something to eat? Grab one of those wrap things you’re always trying to talk me into?” James asked kindly. It was obvious that the conversation was affecting Max more than it was affecting him.

  The military man took in a deep breath of the tropical-feeling air that enveloped them, thought about when he’d eaten last. It’d been a few hours too long, and he was getting sucked into something he really didn’t want to think about.

  “Yeah. I’m down for that. It’s pretty much around the corner, actually.”

  Max stepped back towards his car, walked over to the driver’s side. He opened his door and gave a nod for James to join him.

  James chirped his car locked and went around the other side of the classic.

  “Real pretty car, man.”

  The engine started with a soft purr, turbo kicked it up to a growl as the car peeled out and Max laughed. “There's even more pretty shit under the hood.”

  Peering into the side-view-mirror, James watched the church gain distance. The remainder of the sunlight stretched out in a rosy glow across the various intricacies of the building and his mind drifted off to other, more important things.

  Monday

  October 29, 2012

  Pleasure

  They didn’t stop all day. He was surprised they didn’t send a car out for him. First off were the blocked numbers, all of which he knew were the 122 Precinct’s various lines; those calls were then followed by the unlucky cops calling from cell phones on admin’s behalf. The storm was going to be bad and they wanted all hands on deck. James put his phone aside though, and hunkered down for a cloudy day of Netflix binge-watching.

  Fuck The Job.

  The sun set and the TV played on. At just before nine, “How I Met Your Mother,” disappeared into a black flat screen. Every house on the block went black too. Frustrated and alone, his father off somewhere unknown as usual, James stood up from the old couch.

  He walked in circles, until the circles took him to his bathroom. A hot shower helped ease the tension. No power, but at least the water wasn’t cold.

  Fifteen minutes into laying on his bed and the tension returned. Along with the thoughts about Hallie.

  Where was she at during all this?

  It was half past nine when he made the decision to go to her house. He’d been putting it off for too long. Months too long. If she was even home, there was no surety in her opening the door for him. Maybe he’d get lucky and her parents would let him in.

  The rain slapped his face in sheets, cold and merciless. He braced himself, pulled his pea coat tight and stepped into the wet night. He wore heavy, navy Doc Martens only partially laced up, jeans tucked deep. The water splashed up the back of his boots with each step. A black cat crossed the street in front of him, ran off into the darkness at the sight of the human heading its way. James kept walking; he didn’t believe in bad omens.

  He stopped at the foot of the cement path to Hallie’s small, covered front porch. Despite the rain beating against his face like the lash of a whip, he took the time to take in the scene before him. The olive green home with white trim was just large enough for the three members of the Winters family who lived there - Hallie being an only child. The path led to five steps, a white front door next to two square windows. Three symmetrical rectangular windows filled the middle face of the home, and above that, an attic window. Her window.

  Her parent’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Neither was Nick’s. Just the yellow Bug. He stared up at the attic, candle lights flickering on the sill, the only light to the house. He pulled out his phone. No service.

  James cursed aloud and walked the pathway to the front door.

  Water dripped off his clenched fist as he raised it, allowing it to hover for only a moment before commencing to knock. He hammered harder, the storm nearly drowning it out. He wondered if Hallie even heard him. He pressed his hand against the doorframe and breathed deeply. About to turn back home, the door began to creak open.

  “James?” breathed the small voice from within, its owner covered in shadows and hidden from sight. He could barely hear her.

  “Yeah.” He paused, sucked in air through his nose, exhaled with, “Yeah. I know, right?”

  She glared at him from the darkness.

  “It’s been a long time,” he said, glancing down at his boots for a second.

  “Six months, James. Six fucking months.”

  “Yeah,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

  A few seconds more ticked by; he wondered how long the agony would last. It's fucking wet out.

  Finally, the door opened enough to see inside, revealing Hallie in all her glory. It’d been so long. He’d seen her around the neighborhood, sure, but he’d always forced himself to act as if he hadn’t. Looked the other way, kept going. But now, he couldn't get his eyes off her.

  A white tank top clung to her tight little body, small canary yellow sweat shorts hugged her hips and curved around the shape of her lips. He peeled his eyes upward.

  Still silent, Hallie stared out at him with those ocean eyes. Her soft features were enigmatic; he couldn’t tell what she was feeling.

  “I keep thinking about what you said the last time we talked, Hallie. And I’m thinking about how futile this life is. It’s what we make of it right? No rhyme, no friggin’ reason. Why else would such bad shit happen to such good people? I mean, what the fuck is God even doing tonight?”

  James’ name trailed into a sigh off her lips. “The last time? That was...”

  “Hallie, I’m here… now. Because people can change. I can change. I think I have to. I lost Mom. I lost Stacey. We lost Stacey... geez, I’m losing you. Tell me I didn’t lose you already, Hallie. I’ll change. I swear I’ll change.”

  “It’s been so fucking long,” she said with a slight slur.

  “Is it ever too long for friends like us?”

  James saw her head move oddly, like a half nod of despair, before she opened the door another inch.

  “It’s a mess out there. Come in.”

  Finally.

  He stepped forward. She clenched her fist, raised it, a snarl on her face. He took a step back. She mumbled something incoherent, repeated herself as her hand relaxed, came down to her side. She looked down, on the verge of crying.

  He took a step forward. And another step closer. The faint smell of distilled spirits hung on her breath. He couldn’t miss it even from a foot away. He felt his face tighten with apathy.

  “Hallie.” It was firm, resolute.

  Her eyes flared back at him. “You don’t get to judge me if that’s what you’re about to do, James.”

  “Hallie.” He said it softer, let his features match his tone, solemn but sympathetic. He reached for her with both hands, wrapped them lightly around her shoulders and brought her closer to him.

  “We need to get you dry.” She broke from his embrace, turned, and walked up the nearby staircase. James shut and locked the door behind him and trailed behind his goddess with the short red ha
ir.

  She stopped halfway up the stairs, wobbled a bit as she turned to face him. He braced her. She barely seemed to notice his cold, damp hand against the skin of her thigh. He desperately wanted to slide his fingers up, just a few inches higher.

  “Prove you can change, James. Please.”

  She gripped his hand tightly with her own, so warm to the touch.

  “Please. Prove it, please.”

  He stepped up to meet her eyes with his own. Pulling her close, her body clung to him like his wet clothes. His mouth opened, but no words came. His eyes wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t break from the vision of perfection before him. James leaned forward, two pairs of lips, an inch apart. The space became smaller still, then closed completely. Nothing to come between them.

  Her lips were soft, her tongue smooth. Her mouth was an embrace of bitter warmth. Their first kiss. How did it take that many years for the first kiss?

  She grasped his hands in hers, pulled him up the stairs, out of the darkness towards the flickering candlelight of her bedroom. He followed closely after her, never letting go of her left hand. With every step, his heart beat faster; he thought it might truly burst through his chest at any moment. He hadn't planned this, hadn’t expected it at all. He forced himself to stay in the moment, told himself not to think about where the night would lead, where their relationship would go from there, what it would all mean the following morning.

  They navigated the shadowy hallways, stopped at the white, wooden door frame. Hallie Winters’ bedroom was suddenly different than it had ever been before, drenched in possibilities never attainable prior to this perfect moment. Three sets of wicks flickered with orangey red light, flooding the room with the scent of sweet florals and vanilla spice. Each of the glass containers held wax of a different height, two seemingly newer than the third. James wondered if that one had been burned like this before, burned for Nick the way it now burned for him. Don’t go there, either. He forced himself to stay in the moment instead. Forget the past. And he figured, anything prior to the moment he walked into that room was the past. Told himself to forget it all, just know it got them both here, now.