by A. R. Braun
I’ll have to choose a new postulant in Denver. Should be no problem. Just find an atheist, and WHO DOESN’T WANT THEIR DEEPEST DESIRES TO COME TRUE?
Pishuni roared as he flew. Thunder, lightning and softball-sized hail erupted in his wake.
Jah or no Jah, I will kill them all!
CHAPTER 38
The wan, ending light of day shone through the curtains in the quaintly drab and affordable hotel room.
“Mary Faith followed me back.” Don sat at the desk. “This is Twitter, so I have to condense the blog post I typed for Rick into a short direct message. It can’t wait. You never know when Pishuni will pull another trick.”
Fay furrowed her brow. “You really expect Mary Faith to believe a DM?”
“Yes,” Georgia added, “it can’t be that simple.”
Don wiped his face as if to wipe away the maddening situation. “You’re probably right. I think it’s worth a shot though. You never know.”
He’d tried to call the show, but he should’ve known they wouldn’t let him talk to her. The woman who’d answered said Mary was busy and couldn’t speak now. She’d also hung up on him before he could leave a message.
Don typed the DM. He found he had to delete words to make the message 140 characters.
I saw the Indian deity Pishuni destroy those five cities in New Mexico and Colorado. Please send a camera crew so we can tell the world.
If I ever beat Pishuni — no, when — then I’ll have to get a job here. Smiling, he clicked send. At least the word is out, whether Rick succeeded or not. Now to stack the deck.
Don turned around in his chair to see Fay and Georgia sitting on the bed’s white coverlet, dabbing their eyes with tissues.
He rose, walked over and sat at their feet. He took their hands in his. “Hey, I know it’s been rough, but — ”
“Will we ever win? He always finds a way to beat us.” Fay’s lower lip trembled, breaking Don’s heart.
He rose and kissed her, then sat back down on the carpet. “We have to try. Will you pray with me that Mary Faith listens to my message and sends a camera crew so we can expose Pishuni?”
“Of course,” Fay said. “Let’s fight till the end.”
Georgia nodded. “I want to see that fake deity squirm.”
“Good,” he said. “Let’s pray.”
***
Pishuni’s chin was in his hands.
I can’t outwit them? They can’t get the upper hand on a god! Think!
He knew the direct message had gone out. Mary Faith, bleh. Jah would probably get that damned Bible-thumping cunt to send a film crew to Denver.
There’s no time to woo another servant. I’ll have to bring forth a murderer.
The deity slinked from skyscraper to skyscraper. He finally came to a high-rise apartment building. He glimpsed through a window and saw a large brunet woman with a Bulls hat on sideways and baggy clothes being beaten by a huge musclehead.
This time, the man put all he had into punching the lady, throwing his weight into it. She crashed into the closet doors.
“Goddamn it, you honkie bitch!” he said. “You ain’t never gonna learn!”
Invisible to them, Pishuni flew through the window and over to her. He whispered a chant, filling her mind with fury and driving her to the brink of madness.
“Where’s that whisperin comin from?” the woman beater asked.
“Fuck if I know, you sewer rat!” she answered.
“What’d you just call me?”
“You heard me!”
Pishuni saw the woman’s eyes go mad and watched her scowl. She stepped forward and kicked her boyfriend in the nuts. He doubled-over in pain. Then Pishuni scanned the high-rise apartment for a weapon with his X-ray eyes. Finding a handgun in the bedroom dresser, the deity rushed over to her and placed the weapon in her hand from the tip of his tail.
“Take this, you fucking nigger,” she cried.
Pishuni snickered quietly.
There’s nothing like domestic violence and hopelessness to make racists out of people.
The woman emptied the gun until there was nothing left of his face but red pulp as he fell back onto the bed.
Pishuni nodded.
You’re the one, paleface.
The deity knew a cold-blooded murderer when he saw one. He also knew that if the police came at this moment, they wouldn’t believe she’d killed him in self-defense, and neither would a jury. Besides, she hadn’t needed to murder him. She could’ve left the minute his back was turned.
Her eyes goggled, and her face went ashen. Obviously, she’d never killed anyone before. She trembled and bit her nails.
Pishuni flew over to her and filled her with power as he’d done before, but this time with courage instead of madness. For the time being, the woman was apparently too discomfited to be concerned with the whispered chant.
The deity beamed. He could see himself in the long mirror by the bed, but the woman couldn’t. He turned to his new postulant. She took a deep breath, then appeared calm.
I’ve got another job for you, paleface.
***
Don felt relieved Mary believed him and had sent a film crew to interview them. Don had purchased a suit for himself and dresses for Fay and Georgia. It was now nightfall, and the camera crew was set up and ready to go.
Mary had asked him for his phone number in a Twitter message. Don had talked to the anchorwoman over the phone earlier. That was why he held Mary in such high regard. Not only was she a successful woman with her own TV show, but also she bore a heart of gold.
“Thank you so much for speaking out,” she’d told him. “That takes guts. My faithful viewers and I are desperate for answers.”
“I was placed on the frontline when I moved from Chicago,” Don had answered her. “I’m sure anyone in my shoes would’ve done the same.”
She’d laughed. “I doubt it. Cowards abound. Your courage in coming forth with this, risking looking insane to save our beloved country, is astounding.” She’d paused. “Have you and your family ever been on television before?”
“No,” Don had answered. “I hate to admit it, but I’m a bit nervous.”
“Just relax and tell your story,” she’d continued. “It’s just like talking to another person — only without looking them in the face. Just pretend the camera’s one person that you’re conversing with.”
Don had relayed what Mary had said to him to give Fay and Georgia strength. They’d said a prayer afterwards, and Don’s nerves had calmed. So had his wife’s and her mother’s, he could tell. They no longer shook or looked lost.
When the cameraman turned the lens on them, somebody kicked the hotel room door in.
Don looked toward the cause of the commotion.
Oh no, not again!
A heavyset brunette wielding a gun crossed the threshold. She emptied rounds into the cameraman and the sound woman, blowing out the lady’s teeth and catching the camera guy in the jugular vein and in his chest. The woman’s broken molar fragments fell to the carpet; her blood stained the fibers crimson, along with the dark-red puddle flowing from the man’s neck.
His adrenaline kicking into overdrive, Don grabbed Fay and Georgia and bolted for the bathroom. When inside, he held the door shut, careful to remain out of the line of fire. His behind was by the sink. The door shook in its frame from the madwoman’s force, but Don’s strong grip held it firm.
“Oh God, we’ll never beat Pishuni,” Fay sobbed.
“Lie in the bathtub and don’t look up!” Don said.
They did as he instructed, but Georgia was too slow, probably because of her age. Don didn’t have time to worry about her though.
The shots came through the bathroom door and blasted into the walls, knocking white plaster and drywall around in a cloud of dust. Don was slicked with sweat; his shirt stuck to his body. His heart hammered in his chest as if wanting out. Butterflies swarmed in his stomach. Why did these impossible situations keep coming up? Pish
uni, of course. Don didn’t know how much more he could take.
The gun clicked. Don knew she was out of ammo. The madwoman bashed into the door again.
Fay keened.
“What’s wrong?” Don couldn’t take his eyes off the door. “Oh God, don’t tell me that — ”
“My mother’s dead,” Fay cried.
He turned and saw that Georgia had caught a bullet between the eyes. Staring at nothing, she lay motionless.
“Stay down, Fay!”
The crazy lady stopped bashing into the door. Don hoped to hell she didn’t have any more ammo. If she was reloading now, he might soon be dead. But silence reigned from the other side of the door. Just to be on the safe side, he regrouped by the sink.
Good thing he did. More shots blasted through the door, again blowing the wall’s contents all over the room in a sickening fog. Insanely, the woman peeked in with her mad eyes through two bullet holes in the door. Somehow, this scared Don most of all. He trembled from the hell-on-earth he and his wife were experiencing. Georgia, dead? It was like a bad dream.
“I’ve called 911 on my cell,” Don cried. “They’ll be here any second.” He dove for the bathtub and crowded in with Fay… and Georgia’s corpse. His wife continued to bawl. The crazy woman’s emotionless eyes suddenly looked afraid as Don peeked up at the door. The eyeballs jerked away, and her footfalls sounded on the carpet.
She’s making a break for it!
Don bounded out of the bathtub and ran for the door.
“What are you doing?” Fay screamed.
Don shoved the door open, and it banged against the wall. “I’m pretty sure she’s out of bullets. I can’t let her get away.”
“Pretty sure? Get back here!”
But his wife’s words were lost on him. Smelling gun powder, Don leapt over the dead cameraman. He went to the front door and peeked out just in time to spot the big woman throw the gun into the maid’s trash and duck into a stairwell. He grabbed a rag, retrieved the gun, clicked the safety on, then shoved it into his pocket. Again, he chased after her. “Oh Lord, don’t let her get away!” Don raced down the stairs, taking two at a time, and caught up with her and tackled her. They fell through the stairwell door.
That’s when his eyes darted back and forth, and his ears rose; he could hear the sirens. It was ironic that the police came at this moment. The cops rushed through the doors and toward him and his captive.
Don rose, pointing down at the woman who was now red-faced and weeping. “This is the woman who shot the camera crew and my mother-in-law! She threw the gun in the maid’s trash, but I grabbed a rag and snatched it up!”
***
Mary Faith, an ex-prosecutor and a tough old bird, sat behind her desk while filming her show. She was adorned in a black business suit, her blond hair in a pageboy cut as she gave the camera a wistful, serious look. “As you know, friends, two members of our camera crew were murdered last night before they could film a family who claims to have an answer to why these cities in New Mexico and Colorado are being destroyed.” There was no keeping the husky southern drawl out of her nasal voice. Then her shoulders hitched and she sobbed, and someone out of the camera’s eye handed her tissues. She dabbed her eyes. “I’m sorry, folks, but to lose a whole film crew… it’s just too much.” She took a deep breath. “Don Rack, the man of the family and a true soldier indeed, ran after the gunwoman — yes, you heard me right — the gunwoman, who shot and killed two members of our crew, as well as his wife’s mother. What a hero Mr. Rack is.”
A still of his face from Twitter came on the screen.
“There’s our hero.”
Don and Fay were watching Mrs. Faith in their hotel room. Mary wasn’t going to risk sending another camera crew out there, but obviously was moved by what he’d said and done. Fay kept sobbing, sniffling, and wailing like the damned.
“My mother was too young to d-d-die,” Fay sobbed.
Don held her, kissing her head. “She’s in heaven, and we’re the tortured ones. Shush, now, she’s in peace.”
“Oh Donny!” She continued to cry anyway.
The camera panned to Mary, who stared somberly for a few seconds before speaking. “A couple days ago, Mr. Rack sent me a direct message, saying that an Indian deity named Pishuni had caused the horrible destruction in Rio Rancho, Albuquerque and Santa Fe, New Mexico, as well as in Pueblo and Castle Rock, Colorado.”
She sighed as she took another long look at the camera. “I would be hesitant to believe him, friends, but I want answers. I Googled this Pishuni on the computer…” She paused. “… and he’s the evil Indian snake god responsible for temptation and disease. It also said that this trickster’s desire is to kill mankind. People of America, no other explanation makes sense, and I believe Mr. Rack. Let’s open this up to my fabulous panel. Joining us tonight are Kirk Buckman, a former Guardian Angel and author of Terrorism by the Bunch; Sharina Lowly, a former psychiatrist and current FBI profiler; and Vance Sterling, ex-Secretary of Defense.”
The camera showed the talking heads along with Mary’s.
“Sharina, let’s hear your view on this. Sounds like the ravings of a madman, but Don was willing to come on our show — not that I want to send another camera crew out there after what happened to the others, God rest their souls. What do you think?”
The woman whose wrinkles scored her skin like scars and whose flowing black hair was obviously fake, said, “This is the craziest story I’ve ever heard, as if Sonny the Kookoo Bird from the Cocoa Puffs commercials made it up. Somebody coming up with reasons for terrorism is obviously delusional and paranoid — ”
“Delusional and paranoid?” Mary answered with a loud, angry voice. She scowled. “This man ran down the gunwoman and tackled her so she’d be brought to justice. Sounds like a hero to me, not a nut. Do you have a better explanation for why five American cities were destroyed?”
“Well, no… but…”
“I see. Because there isn’t one. Vance, what do you think? I know there was no evidence of the attack being nuclear. The people in the country weren’t harmed with radiation, were they?”
An old, bald man in a suit spoke up in a high, tinny voice. “No, Mary. These were not nuclear attacks. Remember when 9/11 happened? There were text messages and people speaking into cell phones, saying they saw the planes coming. Well, some of the people in the five destroyed cities called loved ones in other cities — some on vacation across the country — and not one of them reported seeing any missiles coming at them from the sky. Instead, they saw colored tendrils of heat heading for the people of the cities.”
Mary nodded. “Thank you. Kirk?”
The brown-haired fit-and-trim man with a square jaw and a dimpled chin had been staring into the camera with serious eyes, changing the angle of his head frequently. He spoke in a bass, gruff voice. “I think it’s as good an explanation as any, Mary.”
“If not better,” Mary added.
Kirk nodded. “These were obviously the strangest attacks ever against the United States, and ISIS and every other terrorist group denied having anything to do with it. Not to mention how Don Rack showed true courage in chasing down this willy-nilly crazy with a gun.”
“Exactly. Thank you, my excellent panel.” The camera panned to Mary alone, who looked with a grave, solemn visage at the people of America. “Right after I met him on Twitter, I received a few more messages from Mr. Rack, saying that this Pishuni usually goes after an atheist because Native Americans have bound him with spells. This so-called deity makes things go way better for his servant than they’ve ever gone before, and then appears to them, as the infamous hacker message said earlier this month, which Don denies involvement in. Maybe another person who had contact with Pishuni wrote it? Anyway, a short time after this Pishuni helps the said atheist, he asks his servant to invoke him over their city to ‘bless’ — and I use the term loosely — everyone in the metropolis as he’s blessed him or her.” She drew a deep breath. “Friends, i
f this happens to you, if your life goes down an excellent tack all of the sudden when it never did before, please know it’s too good to be true. Do not pray to this ‘god.’ Refuse him and don’t invoke him over your city. According to what Don said, this Pishuni character can’t take your freewill.”
She breathed deeply again. “Let’s not have any more devastation over our cities here in America. Haven’t we suffered enough?”
After another pause, she continued.
“Let’s show the pictures of our brave camera and sound crew, Ron and Linda Harrison, a married couple, leaving behind two wonderful daughters, Cassie and Amelia. Let’s also show Georgia Merrimount. Surviving her is Fay Rack. And let’s show her husband, Mr. Don Rack, again.”
The TV screen showed a thin man with short hair and glasses and a dark-haired lady with round glasses, plus Georgia and a still of Don panicking.
“Don, Georgia, Linda and Ron — U.S. heroes.”
***
In the hotel room, Don turned off the TV, then rose. He cheered, hugging Fay.
“We did it!” Don said.
Unfortunately, Fay didn’t share his enthusiasm.
Don grabbed the newspaper. Sitting on the bed, Fay worked his laptop.
He crossed the room and sat beside her, reading the news report about Mary Faith’s show on Bing’s home page, a post for everyone who hadn’t seen the show. It was a headline in every home page and, unbeknownst to them, every newspaper.
Don held her. The scents of her perfume and conditioner almost got him high.
“No one in America will ever trust that fake god again,” Don said.
“Thank fuck,” she answered.
***
Later that night, Don and Fay took a walk through the Rocky Mountains, breathing in the fresh country air while moving past the evergreen trees. They came upon a gorgeous stream of water, filled with large rocks to walk across. Fay took pictures with her cell phone while Don held her around the waist.
Fay heaved a heavy sigh, and then kissed him. “At least we beat that Pishuni bastard.”