Anthony Puyo's The Compelled

by Anthony Puyo

  Jason makes his way up carrying some thin rope. Eva ties Ryan hands and feet securely.

  “Let’s take him downstairs.” Eva stands, catching her breath. “He won’t be any trouble now.”

  Chet re-holsters his gun and makes his way up to the Bainy’s room. He knows the sight isn’t going to be pretty. He braces for the worst, and the worst is what he witnesses.

  He stands at the doorway; a stillness glossed over his eyes.

  Jesus. They were just a young family. A shame . . . A damn shame.

  He puts his hat on his chest and shakes his head. “God have mercy,” he lightly utters.

  Chet peers down the stairs at Jason and Eva and just shakes his head no to them.

  Eva gulps, putting her hands to her forehead, letting out a sigh of distraught. Even the monotone Jason falls to his seat on the couch. Clearly upset, he stares towards the wall. The forming tears begin to roll down.

  Moments later, Chet walks down the stairs, in front of the rest of the group who bear somber faces.

  The only noise comes from Ryan who’s tied up in the corner of the room. He lies on his stomach, struggling, spewing out endless curses.

  Chet drops the earmuffs on the coffee table in front of Eva—breaking her deep thoughts. She glances up at him.

  “This is why the kid turned. There something in the air I would have to assume. Something he can hear, that we can’t.” Chet remarks.

  “What? I don’t get it.”

  “Up-until-today, he was fine when he had these on. He must have been asleep, and Melissa tried to see why the kid hollered like blood-hound whenever she wanted to take them off.”

  Chet pauses, letting Eva soak it in before continuing. “Look at Ryan’s ears.” Chet points with his chin. Eva turns to see the wax build up smeared on his lobes. “See that? I saw cloth up there with that on it. She was cleaning them. When she cleared the pathway, the sound, or what have you, got in, and that’s all she wrote.”

  Eva’s mouth opens. It makes perfect sense. “The static in the wind that comes around when it blows.”

  “Yup. Some type of electrical signal or frequency. Maybe both. Could even be on particles we can’t see with our bare eyes, for all we know. Whatever it is, it’s affecting the brains of people. Mind control—manipulation. It’s makes people turn to murderers.”

  Eva grabs the earmuffs. She inspects them; her thoughts hover over the theory. “Why not all of us?”

  Chet looks at Ryan. “Don’t know. Could be the frequency is different for each person . . . Let’s think about this.

  “Though we are all the same species; we don’t all act the same. That’s because we’re wired different. The goofs that study this kind of stuff, say there’s chemicals that get released into our brains that cause us all sorts of thoughts and emotions. That’s why two women on a park bench, staring at a sunrise, could react totally different to what they’re seeing. Where one might see beauty—the other sees sadness and despair. Now I can’t say any of what I just said is the reason for all this mess. But what I can say for certain, is the boy became a killer when those came off.”

  “Then let’s put them back on him.”

  Chet turns to her. “We can’t . . . Not now.”

  “Why not?”

  “The boy killed his mother, and his father oft himself. I don’t think it’s a good idea for the kid to see that. Shit, I don’t even know if he should know that. Let’s get his folks buried, then we’ll bring him back.”

  “How do you know he won’t remember?”

  “I don’t. But he obviously didn’t remember his parents in that there state of mind he’s in. So, I can only hope it works the opposite way, and he don’t recall a damn thing . . . His parents wouldn’t want that on him, and neither do I.”

  Eva sighs, nodding yes. “They loved him dearly. That’s why his father didn’t kill him.”

  “You’re right on that. They wanted us to save him. Glad we didn’t put ‘em down, or else they would’ve died in vein.”

  Eva gazes over at the boy. There’s no resemblance of the sweet kid she has come to know. She turns back to Chet. “Let’s bury them.”

  34

  Fruits of a New Destiny

  “Here goes nothing.” Eva says, about to put the earmuffs on the angered, snarling child.

  Jason and Chet stand close, for security measures. They have the kid sitting up on the couch. Violet stands close to her mother and Isabell—all terrified.

  Eva, bent down, approaches Ryan. He tries to bite her hands. “Hold his head,” she relays to Chet. He does.

  Steadily, she puts them on him. Ryan’s head almost instantaneously drops and his body goes limp, tipping.

  Eva blurts. “Get him.”

  Chet, stops his fall by grabbing the boy’s shoulders, holding him up.

  Eva scratches her head. No one knew what to expect, but Ryan falling into a stupor was pretty far down the list of possible outcomes.

  Eva gets to one knee and edges her hand towards his face.

  “Careful,” Chet says.

  A long saliva hangs from Ryan’s chin. Eva gets close. She touches his plump cheek with the tip of her fingers. Feeling it’s safe, she gives him a light tap.

  “He’s out.” She tells, shoulders shrugging.

  Jason blurts, “He’s comatose.”

  Eva, not satisfied, gets in closer. She’s intrigued by Ryan’s bizarre non-reaction. Eva lifts his slobbery chin. “Ryan?”

  Ryan’s body begins to twitch; his head goes back. The eyes of the group widen. Ryan’s lids begin to flutter.

  Chet barks, “What’s happening?”

  Eva replies. “I don’t know. Just be ready to hold him down.” Chet nods.

  Ryan’s eyes finally open. He’s come back on, similar to a rebooted computer. He says in groggy tone, “Mom?”

  Eva looks at Chet and Jason, then back at Ryan. “No, honey, it’s me, Eva.”

  Ryan stares aimlessly, not saying anything. Then with a sudden lunge—he hugs her. The kid begins to cry.

  Eva squeezes him right back, gazing at Chet with confusion. They had hoped he wasn’t going to remember anything.

  Eva coddles Ryan. “It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re here where it’s safe.”

  Ryan cries. “I didn’t know where I was. It was so dark and empty. I was scared, Eva. No one could hear me.” He sobs more heavily.

  Poor child. “It’s over now. Don’t worry no more. You won’t go to that place again. I’ll see to that.” She kisses the seven-year-old on the side of his head. She peers over at Chet who’s astonished.

  “Promise?” Ryan asks.

  “I promise.”

  It’s a good thing Ryan doesn’t remember anything. And the remaining group has no intentions on telling him the truth. The way they see it, the child had already been through enough surviving in this world. There is no need on stacking more weight to bear for the rest of his un-seeable future. After all, it wasn’t Ryan who killed his parents anyways. It was the evil that did those ghastly things. So before bringing the kid back, they made an oath to keep it a secret, passed the day the man in the sky came calling for them. And from there, they moved on.

  Eva hums a soothing tune while straightening out Ryan’s clothes and combing his hair. She faces him in the direction of the body mirror; they eye each other. Eva asks. “What do you think?”

  There’s a hint of sadness hiding beyond his face as he nods yes.

  They both look nice, thanks to Rose. She happened to have sewing skills and put them to use. She got the former residents clothes and with a snip here and there, a sew-in in the same spots, adding some extra material of course, wallah! Her finished products were pretty good. You could call it a throwback, since most of the clothes were from the seventies and eighties. But as the saying goes: When life gives you lemons—make lemonade. And that she did.

  Eva wears a spring flower dress. High in white and yellow. It has a “Grease” the movie feel to it, but it’s pret
ty. She put her hair down, and put a light stroke of makeup. For her lips; she put on a light red color.

  Ryan wears a grey, homemade khakis with a white ruffled button up.

  Everyone had something nice to wear for this day. Rose made the suits fit the men. For the women, she made dresses wear, with a little bit of custom work.

  Her biggest challenges were the kids. Since no clothes in the house fit them. She had to cut adult clothes down and sew their outfits from the remaining articles.

  “I’m miss them, Eva,” Ryan says, with wet eyes.

  Eva rubs her hands down his arms. “I know.”

  They have a brief moment of silence, looking at each other’s reflection in the mirror. The child then turns to hug her.

  The embrace lasts a few seconds.

  Eva pushes his bangs to the side, making sure he looks his best. She puts out her hand. Ryan grabs it. The two walk out the door.

  Violet waits at the bottom of the stairs, a bouquet of flowers in hand. As Ryan steps down the last step, she says in a soft voice, “I got these for you.”

  Ryan locks eyes with her. “Thank you.” He takes the flowers, putting them up to his nose. The gesture makes Eva’s heart warm.

  Jason, Chet, Rose, Eva, Violet, and Ryan stand on a windy afternoon, in front of the old evergreen, where the graves of Craig and Melissa Bainy lie.

  Chet, dressed in a blue corduroy suit, puts his beige hat to his chest. He begins to read a piece from the Holy Bible.

  “As a father shows compassion to his children, so the lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame: he remembers that we are dust. As for a man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows him no more.”

  Chet closes the book to offer a few words of his own. “Lord, these were good, honest people. They were parents, they were friends . . . And most of all, they will be missed. Please look after their souls as they pass over, on their journey to heaven,” he pauses for a moment, “Amen Lord.”

  Everyone does the crucifix sign. Eva pats Ryan on the back. “Go head.”

  Ryan goes and kneels down near the graves. He takes his time opening his bouquet and putting flowers on both mounds. He puts rocks on the stems, to hold them in place, then prays under his breath with tears landing on the petals. He does a crucifix, gets up, and walks back to Eva grabbing her hand. The group look over the graves one last moment before turning their backs and strolling away.

  Time is the mediator in our lives. It forces us to get past the problems; the pains, of everyday issues. Financial loss, a broken heart—death. It takes time to heal, and you are forced to go along with this rule, since there is no going back to correct anything. It is the signature of the supreme being: You only live once and not for very long. So love, be kind, and cherish all that is good. Because unlike many laws of the natural world, time is impartial. It never lets the good and great last too long—nor the bad and terrible last forever.

  In time—the group would carry on from this gloomy day. And at some point, life would reinstall happiness again. Thus, the cycle would continue.

  Almost five weeks have passed since the funeral, and six days, since the sky started looking normal again.

  The sporadic lightning burst haven’t shown during this stretch, and neither has the temperature dropped or gone too high. The weather fit the season for a change. It hadn’t appeared this way in a long time, and definitely, not for consecutive days.

  There is a different sentiment in the air, one that would be categorized as nothing. It feels clean.

  The kids play happily on the tire swing that hangs from the front yard evergreen, opposite the graves. Inside, Chet stands in the kitchen eating an unripen green apple, watching the kids play from the window.

  It seems harmless enough, just another regular day. But then he notices it: a forming dirt tail in the distance. It belongs to a visitor rolling up the driveway.

  Chet drops the apple in the sink and heads speedily towards the front door, grabbing his rifle on the way.

  He gets to the door entrance, witnessing the small white pickup-truck getting closer. “Kids, get over here,” he yells.

  Ryan and Violet do as told, running towards Chet who steps out passed the front entrance with his gun raised across his body. The kids go by, into the house.

  Eva is the first to come out. “What’s going on?” She asks before noticing the truck. “Jason, come out here please. Bring the M-16.”

  The truck slows down to a stop, about forty feet from the house. Everyone comes out, taking their places next to Chet, except Rose, she watches with the kids from the doorway.

  The driver of the vehicle: a white male in his forties with a lip size mustache and glasses, exits out of the truck. He is of small stature. The khakis and striped button up he wears, gives off a neutral vibe. The man glances over the group with a hesitant demeanor.

  “Can we help you?” Chet asks.

  The man adjusts his glasses. “Is Joann Davis here?”

  Chet spits. “There ain’t no-one by that na—”

  Eva interrupts. “The owner of the house?”

  The man nods, “Yes!”

  Chet raises an eyebrow and glances at Eva.

  She takes over. “My name is Eva, this is Chet, Jason, Isabell,” she turns to the doorway, “And that’s Rose, Violet and Ryan.” Everyone either nods or waves as being introduced.

  Eva continues. “The place was vacant when we took up staying here.”

  The man gazes down with less than a smile. It makes Eva feel there’s something more to his presence.

  She takes a step forward. “If you don’t mind, can I ask how you know her?”

  The man peers up. “She was my grandmother . . . I’m Don Davis.”

  The awkwardness is felt throughout the group. Even Rose cringes as she gets everything translated through Violet.

  Eva replies. “We’re sorry—”

  “It’s quite okay.” Don adjusts his glasses again, “I understand. We all had to do what we had too . . . but it’s over now. I was just hoping my grandmother was still here. I’m the only one who lives close enough to check on her.”

  Chet comes forward, not sure he heard what he thought he did. “Wait a second, Don. Pardon your grandmother, but did you just say it was over?”

  Don’s eyes rise. “You mean you haven’t. Wait. That’s stupid of me. Of course you haven’t, your way out here, how could you have heard. It’s been over for almost a week now.”

  The group gasps as a whole, looking at each other with smiles that grow as the news sinks in.

  “Ryan, come here?” Eva says getting to one knee, and for the time, the group quits down.

  Ryan closes in. “What, Eva?”

  “I think it’s time you remove those earmuffs.”

  Ryan, scared, waves his hands. “No, Eva, I don’t want to.”

  Eva begins to reach for them. Ryan moves his head back. “It’s okay, I promise,” she says, “Trust me?”

  Ryan, reluctantly, moves his head back forward. She slowly puts her hands on them. She locks her eyes with his, and gives him a warm smile. The rest of the group is not as sure as she is. Eva removes them gently . . . and nothing happens.

  Ryan grabs his ears, rubbing them soothingly. Everyone smiles around him. “Yay, my head doesn’t hurt, Eva!” His grin stretches for a mile.

  Eva and him embrace. “That’s good, baby.”

  Chet asks Don. “Did you come from the city?”

  “I did.”

  “How is it?”

  “It’s trying to sort itself out. Recovery is barely taking place.”

  Chet nods then chuckles. “Thank God.” The joy nearly drops him on his rear.

  “Don comes up to help. “Are you okay, sir?”

  “Yeah. Just a tad overwhelmed, that's all. By the way, I’m truly sorry about grandma.”

  “That’s alright, I’m not going to give
up hope. She would pull my ear if I did. I mean, hope is what kept me alive.”

  Chet grins. A memory of his friend comes to mind. The night they got drunk in the living room. He sees Craig sitting on the couch. Remembering their words: Craig says: “We should never give up hope.” Chet counters: “Hope in what?” Craig replies: “That what we know . . . or knew, will come back.” The memory fades. Chet gazes at Don, “Amen, brother.” You were right, friend.

  Chet turns to the group. “Guess we can all go home now.” He gives Don a shake. “We respected her place. For the most part, we didn’t—”

  “It’s quite okay. I know she will have taken great pleasure knowing that her house, the place my grandfather built, took refuge on some good people in need.”

  Chet tips his hat in appreciation. “C’mon guys. Time to giddy-up.”

  Everyone gets into the truck. Chet being the last to do so, gazing over to the graves in the near distance, for a few seconds, then towards the house for a few more. It will be the last time he’ll lay eyes on the dwelling, so he tries to memorize the scenery by branding it in his heart, and staining it on the fabric of his memory.

  It should be easy; considering what it took to find the place, and the memories of living here. They will all remember that. And it’s something they’ll always cherish till the day they pass on. But that wouldn’t be for some time. The same “time” that brings forth new beginnings.

  “So long . . . friends.” Chet whispers to the wind. He then lifts his hat and takes a big whiff of the country air. He gets in the truck, waves to Don, and in seconds—they are gone. Heading home, heading home.

  Epilogue: A Letter from Eva to

  Her Mother

  Dear Mom,

  Sometimes I wish you would email, but I know how you feel about electronics. Maybe it’s for the best. For your reasons and mine. I wouldn’t want what I have to say to get back to Ryan. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but it’s for good reason. The kid is smart, Mom.

  Every day, he makes me question thoughts, ideas—beliefs. It’s bittersweet you know. I wake up every morning, and I’m glad he’s here. He’s a godsend, and he’s mine. That’s the sweet part, Mom; the bitter is the way I got him. And I know you’ve told me before, I shouldn’t think about that, and maybe you’re right, but it’s almost impossible not to.