Viole[n]t Skies

by Derek Baker

Upon hearing the knock at the door, the advisor calmly called, “Come in.”

  Maybe this guy will finally give some decent advice, thought Alexander.

  He propped the door open, cautiously stepping into the room.

  “Oh hey Alexander, I was expecting you,” the advisor said excitedly.

  “I’m sure.”

  After going over details over his next semester’s schedule, Alexander had started to feel a bit better. At least now I have something to keep busy with.

  As he rose to depart, the advisor held him back for just a moment.

  “Oh, Alexander, before you go, let me give you my business information.”

  He opened up the drawer to his desk, retrieving a business card. Before he could close it, however, Alexander couldn’t help but notice the strange looking materials in the bottom of the drawer. It was none other than the nefarious Havenist narcotic that had been circulating around campus. Alexander had seen these tiny silvery cylinders being passed around, though he tried as strongly as possible to avoid these awkward situations, as they usually ended in another denial of peer pressure.

  The movement was everywhere. It was among the students, the national headlines, and even the adult population.

  Enough was enough.

  “What the hell is that?” Alexander snapped, pointing into the drawer.

  The advisor jumped at the raising of Alexander’s voice. Regaining his composure, he slammed the drawer shut. “What’s what?”

  “What the hell’s in your drawer?” Alexander roared.

  “It’s…nothing,” the advisor whimpered, “Listen, you can have some if you promise to keep it a secret. I wouldn’t want the President finding out about this.”

  “I don’t give a shit about that; I don’t want any,” Alexander lowered his volume, but still kept the snarling tone, “I just thought I could count on someone. Guess I was wrong.”

  With that, Alexander stormed off, the advisor trailing behind.

  “Wait,” he called, “Don’t tell anyone about this!”

  “Ah, shut up,” Alexander yelled back.

  Out the door; out of the building. Down the varying, twisting and turning sidewalks. Into his dormitory, out of his dormitory. Into his truck and down the road.

  Never would he return to Poston University, established in 2089. Enough had indeed been enough.

  Chapter 3

  “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been many years since my last confession, I’m afraid to admit. These are my sins…” his voice carried the weight of guilt.

  The silence prevailed, bearing down on both him and the priest. A breath or two could be heard on either side of the screen.

  “God forgive you, child. What sins have you to confess?” the priest pressed on encouragingly.

  “I have many sins to confess,” he said uneasily, but continued: “I have defied God and led others to believe in forces other than Him. I have caused these people to sin with no end nor with guilt to come of it. These people are everywhere, committing adultery, murder, rape, abusing legal and illegal drugs, pretty much anything you can think of. For all of their sins I claim responsibility. Their sins are mine. Thousands of atrocities have been carried out in my name. I have led a revolt against God.”

  The priest sat in silence for a moment, considering these sins. “Are there any more sins you wish to confess?”

  “Y-y-yes, Father. I have conspired against our nation under God, and made a deal with the enemy of God’s people. I accepted compensation for this. I have purposely caused unrest in order to achieve my ends. In addition to these major sins, I have committed others: I myself have repeatedly made love out of wedlock, abused countless legal and illegal drugs, and have actually committed murder and gotten away with it. I’m deeply sorry for all of these and the sins that I can’t remember too.”

  “First of all,” the Priest started, “do you truly speak the truth in all of this? Or do you mock the sanctity of this process?”

  “I would not lie in the house of God, Father.”

  “Then I’m afraid I am dumbfounded, my child.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Never before have I heard such an extensive and severe list of sins such as this in all my years serving this church,” the Priest said solemnly.

  “But surely there must a penance I would have to pay?”

  “Surely. However, the sins you speak of are so severe that I can think of no penance that would ever earn God’s forgiveness in this lifetime.”

  “Then do you think I’m doomed to hell, Father?”

  The priest paused, reconsidered.

  “What do you think you could possibly do to get right with God, my child?”

  “I don’t really know,” he admitted, “I was hoping you could help me out with that question.”

  “I suppose based on what I know and who I assume you to be, I would perhaps start by recanting what you have done to the public.”

  The man sighed heavily, “You don’t understand, Father. If I were to do that, it would only make things worse. If I told the world what I knew, the results could be far more damaging than what I have already done.”

  “In that case, I’m afraid I have to admit: I don’t understand. Could you explain?”

  The priest watched his head shake through the screen.

  “I can’t,” he said finally.

  “Then I don’t see how God can forgive you, child.

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  Another uneasy silence was exchanged between the two. A crow could be cawing outside. The musty feel of the old church was becoming intolerable for the confessor. He tugged at his collar, sweat forming along his forehead. He dabbed at it with a handkerchief.

  “Do you even want to be forgiven?” asked the priest.

  “I, uh, of course I do, Father.”

  “I see, simply curious.”

  The man stood, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck.

  “If nothing can be done, then I suppose I’ll be going. To be truthful, Father, I do not seek penance; I merely sought to tell at least one person on this planet what I’ve done. I already feel better.”

  He stepped out of the confessional, but the Priest followed him. There they stood face to face, sizing each other up.

  It’s Jonathan! Thought the priest. Could he be the Johnny Haven that they’ve been talking about on the news?

  He hid his revelation, “If it’s peace you feel, then so be it. However, you could at least turn yourself in to the authorities for the murder you committed.”

  Johnny knew Father Roberts recognized him, despite the fact that he hadn’t been to church for at least ten years. It led him to what he said next: “Father, religion as we knew and practiced has become dead. The excitement and religious fervor that accompanies a newly acquired faith have been depleted from Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Hindu, and Buddhism. My new religion exceeds them in this category. People do not complain about practicing the way of life I have set out for them. I have used the old God to progress the new one.”

  “Jonathan, it is you!” the Priest exclaimed.

  “Yes, Father Roberts, it’s me. Now promise me something, you won’t tell a soul about this encounter.”

  “Our exchange was merely for the eyes of God, Jonathan, you know how it works,” reassured the Priest.

  “Good,” Johnny said, narrowing his eyes to signal he had made a conscious decision, “but just to be sure…”

  And without warning, he extracted a small dagger from his back pocket, slashing the Priest across the throat. The Father collapsed, eyes widened in shock, unable to say anything, save for gurgling from the blood.

  Johnny loomed over him, measuring his condition, then: “You see, Father Roberts, I exaggerated when I said I had committed murder. I actually hadn’t done it yet, but now I have. I truly am sorry.”

  As the Priest managed to take his last few final breaths, Johnny recited the passage he had gone there for:

/>   “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend with your help to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Amen.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  Not too far south of Baltimore that evening, the White House sat calmly in the middle of the weakened capital of the United States of America. The glow of the city and the spotlights shined upon the three-century old mansion in a peaceful ambiance as a cool breeze swept across the wet, dewy lawn full of chirping crickets. One walking by would’ve guessed this to be an ordinary night with no excitement whatsoever; in fact they might assume the President was out of town. The reality was quite different, however.

  Inside the Oval Office the President was quietly sipping from a cup of coffee, the expression on his face wore concern and fright all in one. He sat on an old Victorian sofa, staring intently at the figure who was seated across from him. He didn’t know why he was up this late, nor why he was receiving such an unusual guest.

  Whoever it was that sat before him, it was covered from head to toe in a long black cloak. His voice was very distant and scraggly, but very formal in grammar, much to the President’s surprise. The cloaked figure had snuck up on him as he always had, appearing periodically throughout the last year or so the President had been in office.

  The first time the figure in black appeared, he was taking a long bath in his home back in California a week or so after the election. His pad had rung while he was dozing off in the tranquility of lukewarm water, and he rose, dripping and flustered, to answer the call. To hide his nudity, he answered with the voice option. It was an unknown number, but he figured he’d answer anyway.

  “Hello?” his voice was unsure.

  “Is this President-Elect Garner?”

  Garner recognized the voice, he knew it from anywhere. It was the incumbent President he had defeated in the election: Gregory Timmons. He was a very old fellow of about 80, had that scruffy but wise voice.

  “Greg? Is that you?”

  “Sure is, Allen. How are you this evening? Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Oh, no, of course not,” Garner looked down at his naked body, “What is it?”

  “Well…” Timmons’ voice grew distant, afraid, “I just got done meeting with the Ambassador.”

  “Oh? From which country?” Garner asked, confused. Where was this heading? Was the outgoing President trying to give him some foreign policy advice? At such an inconvenient time, too…

  “Well uh…no country at all, actually,” came Timmons’ answer.

  This was ridiculous. “You’re not making any sense, man,” Garner was growing more impatient by the second. The air was starting to make his wet body shiver.

  “I’ve sent him your way. Just think of it as a President’s privilege. After tonight, only sixty-five of us will have known about him.”

  “A President’s privilege…?”

  “That’s all I’ve got to say, Allen. Take care, and good luck.”

  Garner stared at his pad incredulously, “Wait! Explain yourself, man! Who’s coming my way…?” But Timmons had already hung up.

  Then a voice came from behind him: “Whatever you do, don’t scream or call for help. It will make things easier.”

  Garner whirled around, and saw the figure that sat before him on this very night at the White House. The tall figure with irregular posture and devious skills of sneaking around and hiding in the shadows would never give up much information about himself, only said that he was from this so-called undiscovered frontier.

  The President took another sugar-enriched sip of coffee. This was going to be a long night. How I wish I had gone to bed before he showed up, he thought to himself.

  “Enlighten me, Mr. President; have you noticed much unrest in your nation as of late?” asked the cloaked man.

  Another sip of coffee.

  “Now that you mention it, there’s been a great deal of terrorist activity as of late. Some new guerilla religious group. Call themselves the Havenists.”

  “I see,” the figure said, unemotionally. “It’s a great pity.”

  “Indeed it is.” His right eyebrow lowered in perplexity.

  The cloaked man looked out towards the window at the lawn in its humid, dewy state. Then pointed back to the President, sighing regretfully.

  “I fear there’s more trouble, even greater trouble, on the horizon. Your nation will have to brace itself for something completely unprecedented in the next couple of years.”

  “Unprecedented? Like what?” Garner’s interest was slowly rising, although discomfort with the whole situation continued to overwhelm him.

  “When I come back, I will give the full details, and perhaps I will bring my comrades with me. Be prepared for anything. It may be tomorrow, may be next year.”

  Garner was getting annoyed with this scarcity of details. He was the President, god damn it! He was supposed to know everything that was going on!

  “Can’t you tell me anything for once?” His voice betrayed his impatience.

  The figure sighed again. “I suppose I can tell you this much: There is a great war afoot, and it may be heading this way.”

  “Pft,” Garner waved the idea away, “if there are any wars going on, I would know about them.”

  “I’m afraid this one is out of the public eye.”

  The President sat his coffee mug down on the table in front of him, leaned forward. “And if this war does come? Then what?”

  “You’re going to be in for the fight of your lives,” the figure said prophetically.

  This man had always been keen to speak thus. Every time he visited it was unannounced. He would always leave abruptly, saying he had “another engagement to attend to.” Constantly talking about how “terribly busy” he was trying to deal with various crises around the world.

  Garner lay awake many nights trying to figure out this man in black. He knew at least that he visited with other heads of state abroad. He always travelled alone, and was never seen by anyone but him. Somehow, he consistently managed to get the President alone before contacting him.

  He was afraid to tell anyone about this for fear he would look insane and his leadership put into question ... not that it wasn’t already. The damn anarchist Havenists were out for his head. Most of the time, he was cooped up in the White House, rarely making public appearances. The majority of his life was now being spent slaving away at his desk and sending executive decisions out. Which gave this figure plenty of chances to show up and startle him half to death.

  The figure rose from the couch across from the President. “Now I have some other appointments I must attend. Best of luck to you, sir.”

  Garner didn’t even bother objecting; it had never worked before. The black robed man walked over to the windows, opening one with a concealed hand. He slipped out into the darkness, the flaps of his robe swaying with the cool breeze. The President watched his silhouette disappear around the corner. He never saw the robed figure again.

  Chapter 4

  Waking up the next morning after the drunken night, the mostly unfamiliar but all too great feeling of warmth pressed up against Yes, I thought, this new relationship was going to turn out pretty nicely. For a while, I laid there beside her, wondering what time it was and when I’d finally get up to get rid of the swelling pain in my bladder. Claire was beautiful there beside me, with that chestnut hair and those hazel eyes, a slender physique. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. When she came to, the first reaction she had upon realizing where she had spent the night was a smile with her perfect pink lips. Not a big smile, but a slight one, perhaps an almost mischievous one.

  “Good morning,” I said, returning the smile.

  “And good morning to you,” her tired eyes betrayed her fatigue.

  “Do you have anything going on today? Maybe we could get breakfast.”

  “Breakfast w
ould be lovely.”

  After taking her out to my favorite place down the road, we walked back to the train station where she could go back to her apartment across town. She told me she would call me that night and see if we could repeat the night before some other time. I agreed, and sent her off on the train whose tracks circulated the city, providing the largest means of transportation in town. But not without giving her a kiss goodbye.

  Being in that transitional period of my life, no job and out of school, I decided to spend that afternoon in the best way I knew how: going to the photography shop. But I wasn’t there for the photography; I was there for the telescopes they sold. A small and largely unprofitable business venture for them, though I was the most loyal customer, constantly buying new lenses and mirrors. I would usually talk to the owner, but when I walked in that day, I saw that he wasn’t around.

  It was probably one of the only stores of its kind left anywhere. Not many people really cared about what was up in the sky. After all, the problems here on Earth were more immediate anyway.

  Besides, we had the cosmos figured out as far as the majority of people were concerned. There was the sun, and the planets that revolved around it: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. There were also small dwarf planets that were different from the rest but were numerous throughout the solar system. In between Mars and Jupiter there was a large belt of asteroids that some in the past believed to be the debris of a destroyed planet, but I think someone disproved that theory. Then besides that, we had comets that went around the sun and came by Earth every once in a while.

  “Can I help you find anything?”

  I looked up toward the source of the voice and noticed the shop had a new employee. He looked about my age, but with a serious face that suggested he was more mature than he looked. His height was close to mine, a dark complexion that made up his hair and face complete with a set of brown eyes. His short sleeve polo shirt showed off his hairy arms that complemented his five o’clock shadow.

  “No thanks, just looking. I’m actually in here a lot, so…”