American Omens

by Travis Thrasher

  “What are the sayings?”

  “All different slogans and phrases the band used for their album. ‘Acrobat’ is a song on that album, by the way. He went into detail about what he’s trying to communicate, but the gist is the Trabants symbolized the fall of East Berlin.”

  “He’s going for symbolism with the Autovehs?” Cheyenne asked.

  Jazz parked on the curb close to a place where he could get coffee. “Mostly he’s trying to get people’s attention in a world where attention is the most precious commodity of all. This is like the cows in Chicago wandering around. Remember that?”

  “That was him?”

  Jazz laughed. “Yeah. That was him having fun and also trying to make different statements.”

  “Sounds like a thirteen-year-old boy.”

  “I know. But it’s all part of the plan. Shaking things up.”

  “It’s spray-painting cars,” Cheyenne said as Jazz climbed out of the vehicle and closed the door.

  “There were messages around the necks of those cows, just like there are messages attached to the steering wheels of those cars. The media won’t always reveal what those messages say, especially when they’re talking about Acatour and Jackson Heyford.”

  “Still,” she said, unable to contain her bafflement, “we’re talking about cars and cows. Cars and cows.”

  6.

  After picking up four cups of coffee along with some assorted pastries, Jazz drove them to the house where they had enjoyed dinner last night. Moments before they arrived, Jazz’s demeanor changed from upbeat to uneasy.

  “Stay in here,” Jazz said as he slowed the vehicle and then stopped fifty yards away from the Parschauers’.

  “What do you mean? Why?”

  “Something’s not right.”

  “How do you know?”

  Jazz’s eyes shifted back and forth. He looked in the rearview mirror and on both sides of the Hummer.

  “Look, there’s supposed to be a signal at the base of the stop sign where we just turned.” He pulled closer and looked at the front steps leading into the house. “And there’s supposed to be one on the front door too.”

  “What kind of signal?”

  “A welcome sign on the door. Says ‘Home Sweet Home—The Parschauers.’ If it’s up, then it means things are fine to meet. But it’s not.”

  “Maybe they forgot.”

  “No.” Jazz looked all around them again. “You have to stay in here. If I’m not back in ten minutes, take off.”

  “And go where?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. Just get out of here. Hopefully you’ll hear from someone. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  Jazz jogged down the sidewalk, continuing to look all around him. He climbed the steps to their porch and then knocked on the door. After a moment he disappeared inside.

  A minute passed. Then another.

  “Come on,” Cheyenne said, getting out of the car. She hated waiting when she had no clue what was happening.

  As she arrived at the base of the steps, Jazz darted out of the house, his head moving back and forth, his eyes wide as they scanned the neighborhood all around them.

  “Come on,” he told her, grabbing her arm and guiding her away from the house.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. We have to go.”

  She jerked her arm away from him and then could see it on his face. He didn’t look just concerned; Jazz appeared to be scared.

  Without waiting for more of an answer, she bolted up the steps to the house, opened the door, and rushed in.

  “Hello? Susan? Tom?”

  She smelled a combination of bacon and something like burned toast. She called out their names again, and when she reached the kitchen, she jolted to a stop.

  Cheyenne could hear her weak, airless scream come out like a suffocating whimper. Her hand cupped her mouth, her eyes squinting at the blood. Oh, the blood. So much of it. On the walls and the tile floor and the counters, splattered in horrific bursts. Susan Parschauer was crumpled in the corner on her side while Tom lay facedown near the kitchen’s entrance. Cheyenne almost tripped on him.

  Hearing steps behind her, she grabbed the large cleaver on the floor and held it up, ready to wield the bloody instrument.

  “Cheyenne, come on,” Jazz said as he reached her. She dropped it and could hear herself crying, wailing, as he put his arm around her. “Come on. We need to leave.”

  She had no words and could barely breathe. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart. Jazz led her to the Hummer and helped her in. Quickly he was behind the wheel and peeling away and rushing down the street.

  “What…How could…I can’t…” She still couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

  “You’re gonna be okay,” Jazz said, putting his hand on hers.

  She thought about Susan doing the same thing, reaching out to hold her husband’s hand.

  Cheyenne screamed.

  TEN

  The Charmed Watchman

  1.

  The seconds tapped at his forehead, the pendulum of a grandfather clock swinging back and forth in his head. Will knew he shouldn’t worry. He knew that worry, in fact, was a sin. Right? Or maybe those were words from some pious person who didn’t have to be concerned about finding a job or paying three months of mortgage payments or buying groceries or getting a call from an estranged father.

  Worry means that you don’t trust in God. That you aren’t believing the very words He’s spoken to us.

  He sat in his office with midnight closing in, the soft-leather illustrated Bible open on his desk. As he skimmed through its pages trying to find some hope and light, he eventually came to Matthew 6 and read Jesus’s words. Not just words, but commands.

  That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life—whether you have enough food and drink, or enough clothes to wear. Isn’t life more than food, and your body more than clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?

  His girls, especially Shaye, were growing so fast. He got stressed about not being able to buy her new shoes. Or new outfits that actually fit. He worried about the girls not eating the right types of food. They were so picky, and he couldn’t afford to invest in the healthier options of food designed specifically for finicky eaters.

  Look at the birds, Will.

  Jesus’s admonition to His followers answered Will’s wandering thoughts.

  So don’t worry about these things, saying, “What will we eat? What will we drink? What will we wear?” These things dominate the thoughts of unbelievers, but your heavenly Father already knows all your needs. Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need.

  He looked at the list he had written down next to him. A list of options, of hopes, of things to do in his job search. Next to it was a big to-do list, things he needed to do and things he wanted to do. Underneath those lists was another one. This list was a compilation of all the bills he had to pay. Two pages’ worth. Credit cards and utility bills and payments owed and debts from the store. They were all filed online, but having them written out in blue ink gave them greater meaning. It made them feel more urgent. The gravity of all he needed to do and pay and discover and get out of could be felt more strongly after seeing these notes to himself.

  Are you not paying attention? It’s time to wake up, Will.

  All these doubts and worries felt foolish in light of the bigger and more troublesome fears. The kind involving his father and Hutchence and the supposed storm of judgment coming to Chicago. He took a breath and read the final verse in Matthew 6.

  So don’t worry a
bout tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.

  Of course Jesus was right. His words were perfect. Will couldn’t do anything about tomorrow, not in his office at almost midnight. Tomorrow would arrive, and he would try to handle it the best way he could, tackling his to-do list and working on these items and trying not to panic and trying really hard to lay it all at God’s feet, knowing He was in control.

  Sometimes faith was so hard.

  2.

  Midway through the following morning, Will checked his network mailboxes and noticed a familiar name attached to a note.

  Hi, Will. Hope you and the family are doing well. Sorry for the short message, but I’m wondering if you can call me on the same number you’ve always used. It’s important. Thanks.

  Brian Wallace

  The message had been sent on the network to his general inbox, one not connected to his SYNAPSYS. General incoming mail like this didn’t generate notifications, especially since most were simply spam. Will knew why Pastor Brian was contacting him this way. He specifically didn’t want their connection to be tracked or noticed in any way.

  He found the old smartphone in a desk drawer and had to charge it for half an hour before he could call the pastor. The phone rang only once.

  “Hey, Will. Thanks for calling.” Pastor Brian sounded as friendly and thoughtful as always.

  “Is everything okay?”

  There was a pause for a moment. “I’m doing well. So’s the family. I wanted to talk to you about some important matters, stuff that can’t be mentioned on the phone.”

  “We always used this for our discussions about your book,” Will said.

  “This is different. This concerns your recent new friend.”

  “Have you spoken to him lately?” Will asked.

  “Yes. I’ve seen him, actually. And I’d like to do the same with you.”

  “You’d like to get together?”

  “Yes. But because of the position I’m in, I need you to come up and see me.”

  Will was about to ask what sort of position the pastor was talking about, but he doubted he would get much of an explanation. “The person you’re talking about,” he began, “is he in any way threatening you or your family?”

  “No, no, no. That’s why I want to talk to you. In person. Immediately. He asked me to give him a personal endorsement.”

  “He’s completely legitimate?” Will asked.

  “He’s more than that.”

  “I don’t need to drive up to see you in order to believe that. If you say it’s the case, that’s all I need to believe it.”

  “I appreciate that, Will. But there’s more to talk about. He informed me of your situation.”

  Will forced a chuckle. “So you know I have time on my hands.”

  “Hardly. Life for you is probably more urgent now than it ever has been. I understand. I’ve been there. But once I can share more, you’ll see why the timing of everything is providential.”

  Without needing to hear more, Will told Brian he would leave shortly. He needed to tell Amy why he was leaving, something he couldn’t completely explain even to himself.

  3.

  Amy looked surprised to get a connect call from Will, but she’d accepted it since this was technically her lunch break.

  She was sitting in her cubicle, a half-eaten salad in the plastic container on her desk next to a dozen notes. Even though there were a hundred more productive ways to put together a talk or a paper, Will knew she had always preferred writing out by hand important quotes and thoughts and then putting them into an electronic document. The physical act of moving a pen and writing in cursive made her remember the information more clearly.

  “You look busy,” he said.

  “If only you could see the ten documents I’m working on with all this.”

  “I would ask what your presentation is on, but I know it’s over my C-student head.”

  “It’s not difficult to understand,” Amy said in her matter-of-fact manner. “I’ve been concentrating on a study related to the percentage of food demand being met within East Asia as compared to the population and productivity growth in the region. The fact that it’s only forty-five percent is quite alarming.”

  As he thought about her answer, Amy said, “Why do you suddenly look perplexed?”

  “I thought you worked on ways to keep food fresh and tasty,” Will said. “East Asia? I don’t get it.”

  “This is work on my master’s,” she said. “I’ve decided to speed up the process. That bump in my pay grade would certainly help us.”

  He had virtually forgotten about the three years she’d been working on her master’s degree in food science. Strange how everyday things faded from memory. “I wanted to let you know I’m driving up to Grand Rapids today to meet with Pastor Brian.”

  She looked busy and distracted as she took a bite of her salad and simply nodded. “Why?”

  “To talk about job stuff, among other things,” Will said, not exactly lying but not necessarily telling her the whole truth either.

  Maybe the pastor knows about an opportunity.

  “Job stuff? Is there a job opening with his church?”

  “He doesn’t exactly have a church.”

  “Well, I know that,” Amy said as she sipped from her water bottle. “So what ‘job stuff’ would you be talking about?”

  Amy was a black-and-white sort of person who liked specifics, so whenever Will used words like stuff, she seemed to get back at him by repeating the vague word over and over until she got clarification.

  “I’m looking at everything,” he said.

  “Are you going to see my parents?”

  “Are you trying to be funny?”

  This got her attention, and she shook her head, looking at him with a serious expression. “No. But I could let them know you’re coming if you wanted to stop by.”

  “Uh, no. I don’t want your father asking me to come work for him again.”

  Amy was silent as an incoming message on the screen next to her caught her attention for a moment. As she turned, he noticed how pretty she looked. The way her hair bounced and the blue in her eyes stood out. He rarely got to spend time with the professional Amy Stewart. At home she was always Mommy.

  “But I don’t get it,” she said. “Why drive up to see Pastor Brian? Can’t you just talk to him like this?”

  “No,” Will said. “It needs to be more private.”

  She understood his answer, knowing the sensitivity of the work they had already done together. Amy had continually warned Will about this and about the bookstore, telling him he had a family he needed to worry about. Getting thrown in jail for producing Christian books was the last thing they needed at this time.

  He wanted to tell her more, but he couldn’t. Not just because their conversation might be overheard, but also because he wasn’t sure how even to start telling her about Hutchence.

  I think I might be losing my mind, because I’m talking to this stranger, and he’s telling me all these things about God and being a Christian and how the time is now and warnings and stuff.

  Amy would be even more worried, wondering who this stranger was and what he wanted her husband to do.

  “I’ll be driving back late tonight,” Will said to her. “Tell the girls Daddy says hi when you pick them up from school.”

  “Can you really see yourself getting a job in Grand Rapids?” she asked. “All of us moving?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Didn’t you once say—”

  “I’ve said a lot of things in my life,” Will interrupted.

  He knew what she was referring to. One of those edicts he used to make all the time. Like he would never buy a minivan, never borrow money from his in-laws, and never
have to shut his store’s doors. And he would never, positively never, contact his father again. Will had also once openly declared that they would never move to Grand Rapids, even doubling down on it and adding the wonderful phrase “over my dead body.”

  My soul’s feeling pretty dead these days.

  At this point he didn’t care about having to eat his words. Or having to swallow his pride. Maybe he would have to grovel in front of his father-in-law. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t about him anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time.

  “I’ll do whatever’s best for this family,” Will said. “And I’m not trying to sound noble or anything. I’m trying to figure things out.”

  She looked at him with searching eyes. He could tell she was afraid of saying the wrong thing but wanted to say something.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he told her.

  Amy didn’t look relieved. Instead, she looked hurt.

  The two of them could have an entire conversation simply through looks and expressions and body language. That’s what a long marriage built, for better or for worse.

  “I think God is trying to tell me something,” he admitted. “And not that owning a bookstore in this world is a dumb thing. That was clear about five years ago.”

  “Owning a bookstore is a good thing,” Amy said.

  Will almost believed her, but he still couldn’t accept those words from her. “You can’t use the present tense anymore. It’s not anything right now. Maybe it was a good thing. But I’m talking about something else. Something…bigger.”

  She waited for more, but he couldn’t figure out the more to sum up the conversation.

  “I’m meeting Pastor Brian for dinner and then coming back.”