by Brad Cox
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Also chasing the crown for first place, Juno's bump was growing. On a cold February morning, she left her usual Tuesday morning Little Warriors ministry and boarded a bus to the Cornaro Chapel. She'd been whisked away by emotion and was longing to pray for her coming child's wellbeing. Gazing out of the rattling bus windows, she reflected on her life, and began planning the nursery and considering names for her soon-to-be prince or princess. Recalling the birds of her dreams, she thought naming the child after The Council seemed like a beautiful homage to her calling. “Maybe for Ath, I could change it to Athena,” she pondered, shuffling off of the bus stairs. “Or, maybe for Anan, I could change it to Canan. That would be a great name for a boy!” Her stolen focus caused her to walk blocks in the opposite direction. Disoriented, she headed back.
Though she understood The Beyond, she felt a disciplined ritual of faith and prayer, no matter the religion, sanctified the human condition and directed all negative energy back to a more capable source. She felt it was important to be grateful and to show reverence. It curbed her perplexing avian night terrors. The universe seemingly longed for her adoration. Rightfully so, her soul put colors into the air.
She entered the holy chapel like any other afternoon. Kneeling, she gave her angelic salutations and proceeded to the powerful and mystical alter of divine sculptures. She was entranced by The Ecstasy of St. Teresa.
Always trusting, she often ran into familiar faces and engaged in deep conversations with the downtrodden locals. She wore her heart on her sleeve and her mind was an open book. Not long after her arrival, two young girls called her by name and asked to speak with her privately. Without hesitation, she followed them to the chapel doorway. They overtly complimented her noticeable pregnancy and played on her maternal pride.
“We see you here often and plan to have children of our own,” said one of the girls.
“What a wonderful gift to bring into the world,” said Juno.
“Thanks! It's a bit cold. Did you drive here?”
“I always take the bus. I like to stay connected with people of all walks of life,” said Juno.
“How about we give you a ride back to your place? We could talk on the way.”
“That would be great!”
The two girls were well-groomed, dripping with syrupy sweetness and had a good reason for wanting to rescue Juno from the elements. Juno figured a warm ride home would save her an unnecessary fare. She was eager to witness to her new found friends, if only to share her otherworldly experiences.
Leading Juno to the back of a nearby van, the girls yanked open the rusty back doors with dual control. Before Juno could react, four long tentacles lunged from the cabin and pulled her into the vehicle. Laughing, the girls slammed the cabin doors. Immediately, Juno was knocked out with chloroform, cuffed and looted. The clan then traveled to a remote landing on the Tiber River and awakened their Sleeping Beauty. They were intent to make her feel every moment of the cruel death they’d planned, and to drown her in her choice to bring shame to the human race. As she came to, the bandits took the gag from her quivering mouth and began prodding the hive.
“Why have you come, bearing an alien fetus?” asked a deep male voice.
“What are you talking about?” asked Juno.
“You are pregnant with a hybrid,” the man continued.
“I was called by a higher power to bring perfection into this world. Aliens?” asked Juno.
“God? God met you in the Painted Desert and asked you to get knocked up?” he scoffed.
“Who filled you with these tragic lies? How did you find me or know about the desert? It wasn't God who sent me, it was the Council of the Lords. They've entrusted 12 of us! This child I carry is theirs. You will pay gravely, if this baby is harmed.”
“We'll take our chances.”
“I bet she's a witch,” laughed a Gothic teenage girl named Andromeda. “Throw her into the water to see if she floats.” The girl then took out the letter that Michele had instructed them to pen, placed it into a water resistant bag, and slipped into her back pants pocket. “The end of your new beginning starts, tonight -- Juno!”
“What?”
They laughed, hogtied her legs, taped the dirty rag back into her mouth and walked Juno to the water's edge. Though she struggled and screamed, it was of no bearing. The cloth muffled her cries. The sound of Juno’s strained voice miffed the anxious kidnappers. Awaiting, at the base of the hill, where the water moved quickly, was an old tent. Her captors opened the nylon door frame, zipped her into a sleeping bag coffin, collapsed the tent and rolled her up — stakes and all.
The irreverent girls insisted on taking posed pictures with Juno, before tossing her alien-toting body into the river. Though they mocked her courage and felt justified by their cause, her words rang like tinnitus in the ear drum of their souls. It was a constant, uncomfortable and piercing cry. Instinctively, the bells of denial rang out, deafening them from the off-chance they were making a huge mistake. Groupthink trumped their ability to hear her sound pleads. Juno was all but gone. If she didn't asphyxiate, the frigid waters would shock her conscious, while her bound limbs finished the job.
With two group members on either side of their human cargo, they prepared to heave their offering and become heroes of the Cadence.
“On the count of three,” garbled a lazy male voice.
“Do a quick perimeter check. Let's make sure there aren't any cars coming,” said Cass, the leader of the group.
“We're clear on my side, Cass,” said Messi. His appearance suited his name.
“Halt. The municipal is by our van! Put her down. We need to make it look like we're setting up an actual campsite. We don't need them getting curious. Andromeda, gather a little firewood for us,” instructed Cass.
The police car came to a complete stop, looked around the vacant van and examined the landing. “It's probably just a bunch of college kids looking to get drunk or laid, but we should probably go down and have ourselves a look. Besides, what's theirs is ours.” They laughed, holstering their nightsticks.
“I told you this was a bad idea!” said Andromeda. Her nerves stood on end, as the authorities approached.”
“Shut up. Just shut up,” insisted Cass.
“Good afternoon. What have we got here? It looks like societies rejects are fixing to party?” asked an officer.
“We were planning on doing a little camping and maybe drink a few beers,” said Messi.
“Do you have booze wrapped in that pretty little tent? If so, that's a little more than a few.”
Pleading for her baby's life, a tired and incoherent Juno muffled to the officers, but couldn't be heard through the thick bondage. She was quickly losing oxygen and barely able to squeak out a lethargic cry. Even her arms and legs had fallen numb, and were incapable as sending out a fluttering SOS. Though she understood The Council's hands were equally as tied, she felt forsaken by her calling and smothered in guilt.
“Did you know there is no drinking allowed in the Tiber River Regional Park?”
“We did,” Cass, nervously.
It was a risk, but they knew building credibility was their only play. Silence filled the basin, while the cops paced around the wound tent. Their eyes pierced liked lasers into the kidnappers' souls. Their hearts raced, causing enough beads of sweat to flood the basin. Their chests pounded like war cannons. They were frozen.
“What are your names?” asked an officer.
“I'm Cass. This is Messi, that's Andromeda and she is Constella.”
“Relax. Here's what we're going to do! Our shift ends in a couple hours. We're going to leave you to your business, but we'll return. You'll have a couple of those cold beers waiting for us, right?” asked an officer, before pausing. “Sound fair?”
“It sounds like a night we'll never forget or remember! Thank you, officer,” said Messi.
“Oh, and have a fire pit going,” said the officer.
The municipal r
eturned to their vehicle and drove off. To the Cadence, their pace from the landing to the road was agonizing. Without hesitation, they tossed Juno's limp body into the cold river and returned to the van. If the cops returned, there would be no evidence and no party. They knew taking Juno only increased their chances of being caught, and by their guesstimation, she'd already suffocated.
Andromeda reached out to Michelle. “Mission complete.”
“Excellent! We will keep strict tabs on the news. Correspondence is to cease.”
“10-4.”
A week later, the tent and Juno’s body were recovered. A group of Tuscany fly fisherman found her resting upon an embankment. The authorities were notified, but no solid evidence could be found on her, or in the fibers of her nylon tomb. Juno was pronounced dead on arrival.
The municipal police, first on the scene, recognized the tent and knew they'd been careless. Dismissing the threat and failing to track the van's license plate number would haunt them. Both officers kept quiet about the incident. Though their integrity would breathe easy, they couldn’t escape the smothering guilt or dance away from the demons in their mind — poetic.
Juno’s homicide went viral. All of the news affiliates picked up the tragic scoop. The Programmers, wary, began suspecting that another force was poised and rearing. With Dez avoiding their radar, and Simon remaining distant, they debated the intent behind Juno's murder. They feared the dark side may have its own minions out to stop them. The authorities remained at an impasse when the autopsy and police report ballooned the airwaves. As paranoia boiled in the pits of their minds, suspicion pointed toward the New Mexican sands.
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Grayson urged the remaining Programmers to find out what was going on in New Mexico and to locate Simon. Before his exodus, Simon had given Grayson a fairly accurate idea of his general whereabouts. They had a town name and were able to map a general idea of what surrounded it. Grayson wasn't at liberty to leave the New York Times on sporadic time, but lobbied the Children of the Program site for anyone willing to make the trek.
“Grayson, why don't we contact the authorities? Maybe they will be willing to send out a search party and unearth our vanishing kin. If we extend our plight, perhaps they'll agree that there's a connection and look into it for us. That's their job. It certainly can't...” said Neco.
“We can't risk bringing the authorities to our doorsteps,” interrupted Grayson. “For one, we don't want to expose the entire group or go public with our story or bask in the merits of our perverse dreams. It'll only draw negative attention to us. Our identities will go viral. We'll look like lunatics, possibly even suspects. It'll make our chances of succeeding in The Program impossible. If there really is someone, or a group of individuals, trying to kill us, we need to avoid giving the entire world a map! Chances are, there are crazier people lurking.”
“True. We can't risk our friends and family in the process,” said Neco.
“Right. We don't know if there's a connection. Implicating our friends isn't friendship, it's bad judgment. All we know is that Juno has been killed and that Simon is not answering his telephone. There's no crime in that,” said Grayson.
“I've tried calling, as well. Nothing,” added Neco.
“Can you imagine what type of strange attention we'd draw to ourselves? People would want to examine and interview us. Revealing ourselves might incite copycat killings. What if we inadvertently put a child in harm's way? If people knew about these Crystalline children, they'd be mercilessly studied. They'd become the victims of a society we were sent to enhance,” added Grayson.
“I was just spit-balling. I might be able to get out that way. I may contact Elisa and meet her in Los Angeles. We could road trip to New Mexico,” offered Neco.
“Four eyes are better than two,” joked Grayson.
“I could certainly use the company. If there is something terrible going on, I'll need backup,” said Neco.
“I know, I'm sorry I can't be there! Let me know if she's game and if you choose to go.”
chapter 26
ashes rising
The power and popularity of Ash's artwork continued to lift her global profile. A lot of her pieces were put in museums; or, their rights were sold, and used by book manufacturers and magazine publishers. Her posh lifestyle was easily afforded off of the sale of one physical painting. As she reached her highest vibration, her hand flowed about the canvas like the wind through the trees; the landscapes painted themselves, and motion was captured in a single frame. Her sentiments were like teardrops from heaven; a signal that the universe would rain down perfection on those working within their intended frequency. Her art was a steppingstone to heaven, but her child would change the world.
The trifling ways of her adolescence were mere experiences to draw upon, not to live by. She continued using the brush to write the pages of her story, but her most precious piece of artwork was still in utero; she was having a baby with her childhood sweetheart. Ash wasn't sure how to bridge the literal and metaphoric ocean that separated her from Neco, but her time was marching toward its inevitable end. She wanted to see him, again, if only to glide the tips of her fingers across the pained lines entrenched on his disenchanted face.
“I'm pregnant.”
“Ash?” asked Neco
“Yes, it's me,” she replied.
“When? How long?”
“I was pregnant when we last spoke, but didn't want to muck our conversation with awkward theatrics. It didn't beg a revelation. It may have explained my carefree demeanor. That's not to say I'd written you off. I'm just not one to dwell. We are two separate hearts, beating to the same thundering drum.”
“There's no need to explain. You do not owe me that. I'm genuinely happy for you. Sure, I wish you'd have told me, but are you confident it's a Crystalline and that you're heading to The Beyond?” asked Neco.
“I am.”
“Nervous?”
“I am. That is why I'm calling! We must rendezvous before our time's cut short. My boyfriend understands.” Longing, Ash stared at the incomplete painting of Neco and outlined his frame. “You mean a lot to me, Neco. I don't want a telephone call to be our last love letter in the sand. This child is going to bring the canvas to its knees. I only wish I could see its success and share in it.” Sensing Neco’s energy, she pulled out a brush and captured the verbal aura of their conversation.
“Have you told Grayson?”
“I have. I didn't want him to post anything, until we spoke, and due to Juno's mysterious death, I thought it was prudent to wait. The lion's share of my new paintings are of those babies with the beautiful indigo eyes,” said Ash, knotting up her telephone cord. “If someone really is out to get us — someone within — it wouldn't take a criminal mastermind to piece it all together. Though, I'm not really worried. Fear is just the absence of faith. Besides, my mansion is surrounded by towering gates and the tightest of security. If someone's out to kill us, I say, 'Bring it!'”
“Please be careful,” insisted Neco.
“I know!”
“Have you picked out a name?”
“The black bird brought me a vision of a beautiful girl. I awoke with the name Akiane!”
“Magnificent. Gorgeous.”
As they parted, an unmistakable calm befell him. All Neco wanted was her forgiveness and friendship. Her phone call and wish to see him affirmed that his prayers had been heard, and that the most beautiful treasures are sometimes discovered in the darkest moments. Ash had healed and painted herself out of their tragedy. Her house was built upon marble grounds, where she could gaze upon rolling hills and heavenly rivers. Her departure meant the world would continue spinning in living color, and her beautiful art would remain a reflection of her indescribable life.
Dez kept strict tabs on Ash’s online paintings and became increasingly nervous about her influence over the world. Though it was in his best interest to lay low and see if Juno's murder investigation brought the authorities t
o his doorstep, the Cadence was prepared to treat her as a serious threat and end it, given the order. He was savvy to the nature of her paintings and communication style. His tied stomach knew there was an urgency in play.
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Mere hours away, Rand continued to walk the hopeless streets of Kassel. He remained a romantic. His dependency and bond with Isabella continued to evolve. They would occasionally copulate for the sake of feeling the presence of another body pressed against their own. Though she'd introduced him to a number of singles, or passed-over flings, nothing really opened his shuttered heart like his long walks and conversations with Isabella. Her soothing tongue and cool pace comforted his anxious gaze. His sexual preference was of little relevance. They were merely soul friends with physical benefits.
His limited access to online networks left him haplessly disconnected from his spiritual family. Distracted by survival, he often missed the group’s changing dynamics or breaking news. Though he'd still sneak into his old refuge, or steal the Backer's mail, any relevant information was fleeting. Whether his parents had written him off, or not, The Program still seemed like his closest, yet distant, family. When he was able to connect, he always regretted their somber goodbyes. Since their initial contact, Icarus remained his closest friend.
“Wings, fill me in,” joked Rand.
“Rand. Dear heavens, we're glad you are alive. I'm having twins!”
“Is the world ready for Icarus squared? Look out, here comes the 8th and 9th Wonders of the World. I'm impressed, but not surprised. The Council never elucidated the profound implication of bringing multiples into this space. Do you believe you're heading out?”