by Corey Brown
Because of the name, Ben Carlson’s accident was initially treated as a possible homicide. The car had been flattened as though in a rollover or crushed by something unthinkably enormous. But as far as investigators could determine, the tires had never left the pavement. Mr. and Mrs. Carlson’s deaths had been singularly gruesome. Their skulls shattered, necks and shoulders indistinguishable from torso and legs, their spines so forcefully compacted that Jane Carlson’s tailbone protruded from her buttocks.
But there was no evidence of criminal activity. Moreover, the cause of the crash was never completely understood. The accident occurred a few blocks from the Carlson’s Garden District home. Shortly before midnight their Jaguar had plowed through a stone statuette, carving a path into someone’s well-manicured lawn.
The homeowners heard a loud bang, the scream of tires and the sound of metal on stone. A neighbor had phoned the police, but otherwise there were no real witnesses. A single car accident with controlled substances and alcohol ruled out, it was completely inexplicable. The Carlsons were returning home after a late dinner at the Commander’s Palace when Ben Carlson somehow lost control of his XJR and the couple died in a wreck that defied understanding.
Thinking about the sensational accident, Cody recalls that Carlson, Stouts and Weaver had been linked to Jordan McGrath’s company during the government’s investigation of Arrow Investments. C, S and W vehemently denied any impropriety in its dealings with Arrow. In the end, official acknowledgement of business dealings with Arrow never meant much for C, S and W, in part, because Jordan McGrath had worked with several other large investment firms throughout the south and east. But mainly because Carlson, Stouts and Weaver was a major arm-twister in the financial world. They were virtually untouchable.
What is interesting, Cody thinks, is that Ben Carlson’s unexpected demise happened during the investigation of Arrow Investments, not long after federal agents paid a visit to Carlson, Stouts and Weaver. Just when Arrow became the focus of a federal investigation, Ben Carlson dies, and now Jordan McGrath is dead. Does that mean anything?
“Your wife is very kind,” Suzanne says, drawing Cody out of his thoughts. “Your father-in-law, too”
Cody’s expression softens. “Jamie mentioned you all had met.”
“I hope your mother-in-law will recover. Any news on her condition?”
“No, not yet.”
The door opens, then again, not really. The stranger is back. But how he returned is not clear. He is in the room as though he had never left. Looking at the man, it occurs to Cody that the guy’s wardrobe is situational. Wasn’t he wearing hospital scrubs just a few minutes ago? Now look at him: jeans, white tee shirt, hiking boots and a brown leather overcoat.
“Marion is out of surgery,” the man says, glancing at Cody. “I just looked in on her.” The stranger hesitates, clears his throat and says, “She’s still in post-op, the doctors are telling Gus and Jamie that the surgery was very successful but…” He pauses, looks away, then says, “But it won’t matter.”
“What do you mean?” Cody says, his eyes becoming moist, his voice husky. “She’s going to…how do you know?”
The man looks back at Cody, resignation and sadness etched across his face. “It’s her time.”
“That’s bullshit. How do you know?”
“She is a religious woman, your mother-in-law?” Suzanne says.
Cody cuts a sharp glance at her.
“I mean,” Suzanne says, “That’s the sense I got from your wife and father-in-law.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Suzanne’s eyes soften. “Well, it means everything,” she says, gently. “Knowing she will be with God makes losing her a little easier.”
Cody feels his frustration boiling up. He wants to tell Suzanne how she was full of crap. But he can’t, he doesn’t dare. Not after learning of her losses. What right did he have to say that to her?
Hearing the conviction in Suzanne’s voice the stranger looks away, tips his head forward, his long, dark hair hanging past his shoulders. He takes a deep breath and says, “Let’s talk about God.”
“You have to be kidding,” Cody says. “You want to talk about God?”
The stranger’s face softens. “I understand how your experience with the Skulls changed you, Cody. But what happened to those kids does not negate the presence of God.”
“What do you know about the Skulls?” Cody says.
“We all know what happened that day. Everyone knows when someone turns away, even when that person’s faith is paper thin, like yours.” The stranger shakes his head. “Cody, there was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”
“Yeah? Well, tell that to Jason Booker. He killed himself six weeks afterwards.”
The stranger nods. “Thinking of Jason breaks my heart.”
“Those maggots,” Cody says, practically spitting the words. “They abused Booker for two days, made him watch while three of them took on Sally Tate, then they made her watch while they did the same thing, again, to Jason.” Cody draws a breath, steadies his voice then says, “Executing the Skulls was a pleasure.”
Cody looks at David, looks at Suzanne. “You know, a few days----” his words catch, he exhales hard, collects himself. “A few days after Jason killed himself, I got a letter. It was from him. He thanked me for saving his life, and for saving Sally’s life. He told me what I did changed his opinion about cops, maybe they weren’t so bad after all and maybe he would be a cop someday.”
Cody stares at the floor. His voice falls to a whisper. “Jason said when I killed those Skulls I should have shot him, too. So he didn’t have to do it himself.”
Wiping his eyes, Cody draws a deep breath, shudders. “Fuck me,” he says. “I should’ve gotten there sooner. Those poor kids didn’t deserve any of that.” He sniffs then swallows hard. “Sally Tate, she’d be twenty now, if she’s still alive. She ran off two years ago, no one has seen her since. And her parents, they have to be out of their minds. Who knows what they think of me?”
Cody glances at the man. “You want to talk about God? Fine, go ahead. Just don’t expect me to listen. There is no God, he would’ve stopped those Skulls long before I did, he would have been there for Jason and Sally. They were just kids.” Cody turns away. “But no one came to their rescue, not God, not me, no one.”
“I understand how you feel,” the stranger says. “I----”
“You understand how I feel?” Cody interrupts, spinning back to face the man. “What would you know about it? You don’t know jack shit.”
“I know what it’s like to be too late. I know what it’s like to lose someone, to lose faith.” He looks hard at Cody. “No shit, losing faith is not really an option for me. I promise you, God is real.”
“Yeah? And I say he isn’t.”
Cody holds the man’s gaze for several moments, dark thoughts clouding his mind.
“What about God?” Suzanne says, her words breaking the stare down.
The stranger turns to Suzanne, the corner of his mouth rising in a faint smile. “Yes, about God,” he says. “You’re a practicing Christian, yes?”
“My whole life.”
“Your family, they are Christians, too?”
“My mother and father are dead.” Suzanne gives him a look and says, “But you already know that, don’t you? My mom and dad were strong believers, very faithful.” She frowns, shakes her head. “But not David. He is kind and generous, but he does not believe.”
“Why not?”
“Well, there are a lot of reasons.” Suzanne glances at David’s form, almost lifeless on the gurney. “But, most often, he says it’s because religion, Christianity in particular, is inconsistent. I think he would say there are too many contradictions, too many flaws, and that religion ignores science.”
“But what makes him not believe?” The man says.
A puzzled expression crosses her face. “Nothing makes him, he chooses not to believe.”
“Exactly. He makes a choice.”
“Jesus,” Cody says, throwing up his hands. “Don’t start with this crap. I’ve heard that angle so many times it makes my head spin. What about Marion? Do you think she chose to be shot?”
“Some choices are implied.” The man says. “She loved her grandson, she chose to go after Lucas, ignoring the potential risk.”
Cody rolls his eyes. “Now you sound more like a lawyer than a….well, whatever you are. Fine, forget Marion. Go ask those little kids crawling around the landfills down in Mexico City if they choose to live there. Or ask a schizophrenic what choices he had. Yeah, most people would take that option, choose to be whacked out. Oh, hey, ask Jason Booker what he would’ve chosen five years ago. I guarantee it would not include being raped, beaten and then hating himself so much that death was preferable to life. Jason would make other choices, I promise you.”
“Of course, you are right,” the man says. “No one would choose those things. But tell me, when did the spiritual choices become linked to the physical world?”
Cody hesitates, shifting his weight. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, take the Bible story of Abraham. When offering his son as a sacrifice to God, he was making a choice. When the prophets spoke God’s word or when the apostles wrote about serving God, it’s clear their audiences were being told to choose God. They were not forced to believe or to serve. They were shown the choices, and asked to make the right one. This is where the seed of free will in monotheism finds root, in the choosing or not choosing God. It has always been a spiritual matter, unrelated to physical comfort or material gain.”
Cody has an odd recollection. It is of Trooper Goldrick up in Krotz Springs, talking about being in the Gulf war, talking about choosing between bad and less bad. Killing those Skulls, the trooper had said, you did the only thing you could. It was the less bad choice.
The memory strikes an odd chord in Cody’s mind. At the time, he thought he had been on the trail of a potential hit man, so Cody had not given the trooper’s words much thought. But something about the patrolman’s statement now works its way through Cody’s thoughts, something is out of place, an incongruity.
Then it comes to Cody, like the proverbial light bulb: ‘You did the only thing you could.’ There was no alternative. Cody had not selected the less bad choice. He had exercised his only option, he’d done the only thing he could.
This thought is unsettling. Cody doesn’t like the idea of killing people because he is without recourse, but believing he made the right choice, believing there actually were choices was how Cody coped with his murderous rampage. Now, looking at it, he is no longer sure.
“It’s still bullshit,” Cody retorts, feeling less confident than the tone of his voice. “Mainline religion in America is all about materialism and feeling good. Love of money is no longer the root of all evil, it is the path to happiness. Health and wealth is the new mantra, it’s preached, bottled, and sold in practically every church. American clergymen chatter on about God’s love for mankind, but I look around and see nothing but a forsaken planet.”
“Forsaken?”
“Yeah, as in rotten to the core. So in this forgotten world, where is God? If he loves us so much,” Cody waves his hand toward the window, toward the city of New Orleans. “Why isn’t he protecting the Jason Bookers out there?”
“Ah,” the man says. “So we’ve abandoned the idea of free will and choosing God just because evil exists in the world. Why does one exclude the other? The existence of evil does not negate God’s presence. In fact, it is quite the opposite. There is no definition of evil, of rottenness, without the goodness of God. No parameter of wrong without the balance of right. But tell me, why can’t you choose God even though there is evil in the world?”
Cody shakes his head. “For just that reason, if God exists then how can he allow evil, allow the atrocities to happen? I say God doesn’t exist and the proof is the abundance of suffering, hatred and outright meanness of human beings. So how can I choose something that doesn’t exist?”
“Now there’s a slippery slope,” the man says. “But if God doesn’t exist, then, by definition, neither does evil. Without the notion of evil, all the bad you talk about is simply the natural condition of this particular planet. It is not good or bad, it just is.”
“We can go round and round,” Cody says. “It’s still bullshit.”
“Yeah, some of it is. Does Jamie love you?”
Cody starts to speak but waits. Somewhere just below the surface, Cody wonders how this man knows his wife’s name.
“What?”
“Does she?” The man says. “Does Jamie love you?”
“What does Jamie have to do----?”
“Right now, at this moment, you are positive your wife loves you?”
Cody nods. “I have no doubt, I know she loves me.”
The man steps in close, so close that Cody can smell him. A strange subtle odor, both fresh and simultaneously smelling of antiquity. It has the authenticity of wisdom and the crisp smell of autumn; a scent unlike anything Cody has ever experienced.
“How do you know?” The man says. “She’s not here, you can’t touch her, see her, so how do you know? For that matter, how does she know you still love her?”
“What’s your point?”
“The fact is, you believe in her even when you aren’t with her. Even when she cannot prove her love for you. Despite all of that, you choose to believe in Jamie, you choose to believe that she loves you.”
Cody swallows, runs a hand through his hair. This guy is full of it. Just talking about religion, in these terms, makes Cody’s skin crawl. Choosing, what a crock. Nobody chooses, shit just happens. He did not want to be the one to kill those Skulls, that wasn’t his choice. He was just in the wrong place at the right time.
And yet, there was something in what this guy said. No, not what he said, how he said it. This guy really does believe.
“It’s not that simple,” Cody says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t choose to be in love with Jamie. She was just there. I saw her and fell in love. I knew from that moment I couldn’t live without her.”
The man nods, his eyes becoming animated. “And such is the nature of choosing God. Those who see God, really see him, fall in love. It is the same for you and Jamie. You could leave Jamie, you could choose another life, another woman, but you know with absolute certainty how empty you’d be without her. You are in love with her. Your perception of the world, your understanding of what is right or wrong with humanity does not affect your decision. Faith is like that. You choose God, regardless of the condition of the world. Not because you must, not because there are no alternatives; you choose because you fell in love with God. That is free will, that is faith.”
Suzanne moves next to David. She reaches for the sheet covering his body, hesitates, withdraws her hand.
“What does any of this have to do with my brother?” Suzanne says, still facing away from the other two men. “What happened to David? Why was he dead and now.…not dead?”
“Choosing is what happened to him,” the man says. “Not his choices, mine.”
Still looking at David, Suzanne says, “I don’t understand. What happened?”
The man sighs. It is time to tell the secret that half of heaven already knows. He wants to postpone it, he really wishes he could wait until….when? The appropriate moment? That time will never come.
“I am David’s father,” the stranger says. The abruptness of his statement forces an unnatural quiet into the room. “I caused all of this to happen. It’s my fault, I am to blame.”
Suzanne turns around and glares at the man. She is bone-weary tired and in no mood for such talk. How can he be so cruel? She is prepared to shout at him, but in his eyes Suzanne sees simplicity, she sees truth. She knows this man means what he is saying.
“How is that possible?” Suzanne says, collecting her anger. “You’re not
any older than I am. How can you be David’s father?
The man extends his arm, reaches for Suzanne’s hand, she gives it to him. He waves Cody to a nearby chair. “Come, sit down,” he says. “Please, both of you sit and I will tell you about choosing, about falling in love and arriving too late. I will tell you about losing faith.” Looking at Cody, a sad smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Even though you won’t believe any of it, I will tell you everything.”
Suzanne and Cody share an awkward, unsure glance, then they each take a seat. The man paces in silence for a few moments, rubbing the back of his neck.
“My name is T’biah,” the man says. He stops and looks at Suzanne. “And I’m not your age, not even close. I was born in Australia almost forty-three thousand years ago.”
The statement hangs in the air for a moment then both Cody and Suzanne start to speak at the same time, but T’biah holds up a hand to silence them.
“Wait,” he says. “Let me finish.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Cody says, getting to his feet. “All that talk about God and choices and now this? Forty-three thousand years, my ass.” Cody scowls and says, “Excuse me, I have to find my son.”
“Cody, wait, please hear me out. I know you’ve had odd feelings lately, like something is happening but you’re not quite sure what it is. Well, something is happening. More than one thing, many things are happening and all at once. None related, all connected. What I have to say will help us find Todd, I promise. Just hear me out.”
Cody remains on his feet, staring. Then he lowers himself, reaching behind for the armrests and slowly, he sits down. “So help me,” he says. “If this is a waste of my time….”
“Trust me,” T’biah says. “You want to hear this.”