Revelation

by Wilson, Carter;

  Derek took a seat on the chair opposite the girls and me. He didn’t reach for his shot, and I could tell he was also done for the evening. None of us really wanted to party any more, and an awkward tension sloshed about the room.

  Coyote was the wildcard. He paced around the room, stopping to stare out the front window for minutes at a time. He never joined the conversation, but his physical presence made him a part of the group, bringing a weird anxiousness to our space. I’d sensed this mood in him before. He was bored and needed to stir up some excitement to make his evening feel complete. But excitement for Coyote wasn’t the same as it was for the rest of us. He needed a challenge.

  Coyote turned from the window and stared at Laura. She smiled and flushed, undoubtedly because he was the best-looking one of the lot of us. Her smile slowly faded as his unblinking gaze remained fixed on her chest.

  “Catholic?” he finally asked.

  She seemed confused, then looked down and fingered the small gold cross hanging around her neck.

  “Oh,” she mumbled. “Yeah. I’m Irish.”

  He took a step closer to her. “Are you a virgin?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Derek sat up. “Jesus, Coyote. What the hell kind of question is that?”

  Coyote looked dumbfounded. “I’m just trying to figure out if she’s actually a religious person or if she just likes to wear a crucifix on her neck for the look.”

  “I’m not answering that,” Laura said. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the couch next to me. I tensed up, scared what Coyote would say next. I didn’t do anything to stop him, though.

  “No,” he said, “you’re not a virgin. No virgin would have agreed to come with three strange men to their apartment after a night of drinking.”

  Derek tensed his jaw. “Knock it off, Coyote.”

  Alexis finally broke her silence. “It’s not like we came up here to fuck you guys.”

  “And if you aren’t a virgin,” Coyote continued, “you aren’t much of a Catholic. You’re a sinner, according to your own faith.”

  Laura didn’t seem to know whether or not he was being serious.

  “There’s always confession,” she said, forcing a weak smirk.

  I was still focused on Alexis saying fuck.

  Coyote tilted his head as he took another step closer. “Can you tell me where in the New Testament it specifically permits sinning? I mean, we’re all sinners, right? But where does it say it’s acceptable to knowingly sin, as long as you confess it afterwards?”

  Alexis seemed more annoyed than her friend being accosted. “That’s a pretty tired argument,” she said. “It’s like attacking a vegetarian for wearing leather. Sure, there’s a point there, but it’s old and obvious.”

  “Don’t take him seriously,” I finally said, my words sounding weak and limp in the charged atmosphere. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

  Derek was much more forceful than me. He stood. “Damnit, Coyote, what the hell’s your problem?”

  Coyote only shrugged and held up his hands. “No problem here.”

  Laura said to Coyote, “Tell me what you believe, and I’ll give you at least three ways you’re a hypocrite.”

  The room fell quiet. I looked at Laura with a newfound respect.

  So did Coyote.

  “Interesting,” he said. “I think I misjudged you, which is something I hardly ever do.” He looked at Alexis, who remained silent. “You . . . you I have pegged.” Back to Laura. “But not you. You don’t follow so easily, do you?”

  “Follow what?” she asked. Her finger circled the top of her shot glass.

  “Anything. You’re not a follower. I’m not sure if that makes you a leader, but you’re not a follower.”

  She turned and looked at me. “What’s wrong with your friend?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. It was the truest answer I could give.

  “Is he always like this?”

  “He’s never always like anything.”

  Coyote plopped on the couch next to Laura, who squirmed a couple of inches away from him.

  “I think I like you,” he said.

  “I think you’re beyond creepy.”

  Coyote let out a laugh that reinforced her assessment.

  “Coyote,” Derek said. “Leave her alone.”

  “I’m not doing anything. I was just asking Laura about her faith.”

  Alexis tilted her head toward him but didn’t look him in the eyes. “You never answered Laura’s question. What do you believe in?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re an atheist?”

  “If you want to call it that.”

  This surprised me, because I had seen the book on his nightstand. “But you read the Bible,” I said.

  “Every night. I also read the Qur’an, the Tipitaka, the Torah, the Book of Mormon, and the Satanic Bible.”

  “The Satanic Bible?” I asked.

  “I find it healthy to understand all viewpoints,” Coyote said.

  It was so easy to dismiss all this as bullshit, and my guess is the girls did just that. But I completely believed Coyote read all these books.

  Alexis sat up on the couch. “Laura, let’s get out of here.”

  “I’ll walk you home,” Derek offered.

  “I just want to ask you one question,” Coyote said, looking at Laura. “Just one thing. And I want you to be honest with me. Then you can leave.”

  “I can leave whenever the hell I want,” Laura said.

  “Sorry, of course you can. Just one question. I need to know.”

  Alexis tugged on her friend’s sleeve. “Laura, come on.”

  But Laura wanted to answer. It was hard to resist Coyote when he showed an interest in you. “What?” she asked.

  Coyote leaned in to her, resting his forearms on his knees. To him, this freshman was the only person in existence in this moment, and the rest of us, only feet away, dropped out of their world.

  “What would someone have to do to make you do anything they told you?”

  She didn’t blink. She didn’t look away. And when she answered, Laura’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  “What do you mean?”

  Coyote’s tone was soft, his words measured, and he spoke with a therapist’s reassuring command. “You believe in ghosts,” he said. “You worship a man who may or may not have even existed. You don’t even adhere strictly to his teachings.” Now Coyote reached out and ran his fingers along her thigh, up and down along her tight jeans. “So, what I want to know is this: What kind of man would it take for you to follow everything he says? What would he have to prove to you?” He leaned in close enough to bite her. “What would he have to do to you?”

  “That’s it.” Derek moved toward the couch. I saw Laura’s eyes glistening as Derek held out both of his hands. Each girl grabbed one, and he pulled them up. “I’ll walk you guys back to your dorm, okay?”

  Laura nodded as Alexis oozed hate from her eyes. Derek turned back to Coyote.

  “Why do you have to be such an asshole?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, and Coyote never gave him one. Within seconds, Derek and the two girls left the apartment, but not before Laura turned back and looked at Coyote with a mix of fear and curiosity on her face, as if witnessing a horrible car accident that she couldn’t look away from.

  Then I was alone with Coyote.

  He stood and stared out the window of the apartment. I looked at him, his hands now shoved in his pockets and his chin touching his chest. His eyes were closed, and I would have almost thought him asleep if I didn’t see the grin on his face.

  “What the hell was that all about?” It was the only thing I could think to say.

  He opened his eyes and turned to me. “Why can’t people have a reasonable conversation?”

  “Reasonable? Was that some kind of pickup line or something? Because you sounded like a sociopath.”

  “I’m just h
onest, Harden. It was a real question, and I truly wanted to know her answer. If that’s beyond the capacity for others to absorb or outside of some social convention, that’s not my problem.” He came over, sat next to me, and poured himself a shot of Southern Comfort, finishing the bottle. It was the first drink I saw him take all evening.

  Then he fell silent, and the sound of him breathing stretched for minutes. I felt as I had when he leaned in to Laura: nonexistent.

  Then I felt him staring at me. I could see him out of the corner of my right eye. He wasn’t moving. Just staring.

  I felt my neck grow hot.

  “I’m different, Harden,” he said. The fresh alcohol on his breath wafted toward me. I grew nervous at his statement. Different how?

  “Yeah, Coyote, I kind of gathered that.”

  “No, Harden, you have gathered very little about me in the short time we’ve known each other.”

  “That so?”

  Jesus. This was getting weird.

  “I like you, Harden.”

  Oh, God. I didn’t need this. I so didn’t need this.

  I stood and walked toward the window.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  I turned. “Coyote, the question is where are you going? What are you trying to tell me?”

  He stood. “Are you afraid of me, Harden?”

  I took a small step away from him. The discomfort rose in my chest. “I’m not sure afraid is the right word.”

  “What is the right word?” He stepped closer.

  I tried to think.

  “I don’t understand you,” I said.

  He moved toward me. I couldn’t move back any more—the wall loomed behind me. “Of that I’m sure, Harden.”

  “Okay, you’re freaking me out now. I think you should go to bed.”

  Coyote put one hand on the wall next to my head and leaned in toward my face.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. As uncomfortable as I felt at the idea of him trying to kiss me, I also felt unease at rejecting him. Even now, tonight, after all he did, I still wanted his approval. But I wasn’t going to let this go any further.

  He grinned without showing teeth. “Don’t worry, Harden. Trust me, if I was going to fuck you, I would already have done it.”

  I sidestepped and ducked under his arm, coming up on the other side. “Jesus, man.”

  “Don’t worry, Harden, I’m not gay. And I don’t think you are either.”

  “Then what the fuck, Coyote? What the hell are you doing here?” My face was burning. My arms shook. I wanted to leave, but where would I go?

  “I’m just trying to share a little.”

  “Share what?” The more I thought about his comment about fucking me, the angrier I became. “And don’t ever say shit like that to me again, do you understand me? It’s not funny. Jacob would kick your ass if you ever said anything like that to him.”

  Coyote laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I read people better than most. Jacob isn’t all that he seems. And you, Harden . . . you have a vulnerability about you that is unbelievably compelling. It makes . . . makes people want to take advantage of you.”

  “Fuck you, Coyote.”

  He ignored me. “But it also makes me want to help you. I want to be your friend. But if that is going to happen, you need to understand me better.”

  “I don’t need your help. Besides, I’m not sure how much more I want to know.”

  Then he said the most honest thing he ever told me. “I need to consume people, Harden.”

  That was enough to pause me. “Consume people?”

  “Yes,” he said, sitting back on the couch. “Consume them. Emotionally. Physically. Sexually. However I can. I feed off people’s energy.”

  I was going to ask him if he was drunk, but I knew he wasn’t, which made me start to think Coyote might have some mental issues. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “If I’m going to help you, Harden, you need to know this.”

  “Help me with what? I don’t need your help with anything.”

  “Yes, Harden. You do. You’re a good person, but you’re fragile, vulnerable. I’m not sure where that comes from. Maybe something in your past, but it’s there. And me? I use people. It’s what I do. I just don’t want to do it with you.”

  This was so confusing. “Emma? You use her, too?”

  He nodded. “She takes the edge off, but she’s not special. I could fuck anybody with the same result. And, usually, that’s exactly what I do.”

  I started to feel sick. “Takes the edge off what?”

  “Other urges.”

  “Like what?”

  “Harden, can’t you see it? Can’t you see that I don’t feel anything? Unless I’m in control, I’m numb.” He squeezed the edge of the couch cushion. “It’s a rush. That control, you know? A rush I can’t escape. And a lot of times that rush comes at the expense of others. I like you, Harden. I don’t want you to be someone I hurt.”

  This was edging to the territory of the person warning his loved ones to lock him in a cell before he turned into a werewolf.

  “I’m going to bed,” I said.

  I don’t think he even heard me. He wasn’t even talking to me anymore. He was talking only to himself. “I’m going to be a great man,” he said. “Or I will be a horrible man. But I can’t be both.”

  Then, without a single word more, Coyote stood and walked out of the apartment. I don’t know where he went, but I locked the door after he disappeared into the night.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JULY 1990

  Harden couldn’t be helpless anymore. He needed to do something, because doing nothing was only resulting in him slowly rotting in the windowless room. He had chosen to do nothing when Mr. Kildare took him into the classroom storage closet as a seven-year-old boy. Worse than the violation itself, Harden had stuck to the agreement. He had never told anyone. He had chosen instead to live a silent victim’s life.

  That would not happen again. But he was weak from malnutrition. Weak from lack of sunlight. From jagged sleep on a dirt floor with nothing to keep him warm. From his own filth. If he was going to try something, it had to be now. If he waited, he might not even have the energy to peel himself from the floor.

  Several hours passed before the light in the cell went out again. When it did, Harden placed the completed pages by the door, walked to the back corner of the room, and stood with his head down like a schoolboy being punished. The slat in the door opened and the same voice he had heard for days stabbed into the small room.

  “Pages by the door. Back corner. Turn around.”

  “Already there,” Harden said. It was the first time he had spoken back to the man on the other side of the door, and he hoped his captor heard the fear and weakness in his voice. It was absolutely essential he wasn’t perceived as a threat.

  You can do this.

  Harden took a deep breath, bent his legs into a slight crouch, and listened.

  Not yet, he thought. Wait just a few seconds longer.

  He heard the slat close. The light coming through it vanished.

  Now.

  Harden spun and bounded toward the door as fast as he could, getting there before it opened. The bolt on the door slid back. Harden pressed his back against the wall next to the door and tried to control his breathing, but the more he tried, the harder his heart pounded. His skin grew hot in the chill in the room.

  A wedge of light shot into the cell, widening as an unseen hand pulled the door open.

  The silhouette of a man. Bucket in one hand and a tray in the other. The shaft of light widened until it illuminated the back corner where Harden was supposed to be standing.

  “What—”

  Harden yanked the arm holding the bucket and flung the man as hard as he could against the concrete wall. As he did, he knew his strength wasn’t enough. He was too weak, and the man was too heavy. Harden ha
d dreamed of smashing his captor’s skull against the wall, knocking him unconscious, but the reality was the man lost his balance for a moment and bumped into the wall as if drunk. Harden released the man’s arm and saw him for the first time in the jagged light of the cell.

  He wore the mask of a grotesque baby face: red bulbous cheeks and a shiny forehead, with only the smallest of slits for the eyes. Plastic, unblinking eyes. It made a sick kind of sense to Harden. The man was one of the Children. The true followers of the Revelation.

  The man dropped the bucket and the tray of food into the dirt.

  The sight of the mask made Harden hesitate a moment too long. When he finally charged at the baby-faced man, his opponent was ready, sweeping Harden’s legs from under him with a swift movement. Harden collapsed to the floor, and the baby-faced man delivered a painful kick into his already bruised ribs.

  “You fucking idiot.”

  Searing pain shot all the way down Harden’s body. He tried to stand, but the man kicked again, sending Harden crashing back to the floor. He used his arms to brace himself, knowing another blow would be coming soon unless he did something.

  The man’s voice was muffled by the mask. “You want to play? I can play all day. No one here is going to help you.”

  Harden braced himself for another kick, and when it didn’t come, he scurried a few feet away and stood.

  Baby Face stood between him and the door. The beautiful, wideopen door.

  “Now go stand in the goddamn corner.”

  Harden backed up toward the corner, bumping into the table with the typewriter. As his thigh hit the table, he had an idea.

  Baby Face pointed. “Get in the corner,” he said.

  “No,” Harden replied.

  Baby Face was nothing more than a silhouette; Harden watched as the figure started walking toward him.

  “You need a real beating? Is that what you want?”

  “I’m not getting in the corner.”

  Closer. The round head seemed to hover in the dim room like a parade float, growing in size as he trolled up to Harden. Finally, Baby Face was standing just a few feet away, and his heavy breaths were Vader-like beneath the mask. His arms dangled out at an angle over the man’s sizable waist, his fists little clenched balls.