by A. D. Smith
As Anna continues to talk, I can’t help but wonder, how did I get here? I mean, I understand Tre’s vendetta for wanting to take out Bale’s men but how does that concern me? Other than defend himself in a fight we started, what has the star done to me? Heck, just a week ago, I wanted to work for the man. And I don’t even see how the situation with little Chrissy at the park could be a bi-product of Jason Bale. Yeah, he’s different, like us, but does that make him our enemy? Thoughts, not visions, now flood my head. I’m not like Tre. And I’m sure as heck not like Gloria or the Anna lady. Which produces the question, Why am I here?
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‘How you got here no longer matters … ’
But that’s just it. How did we get here? I’ve never believed in coincidences and if God did truly select us for this battle, that must mean he knew the Persuaded would take my brother. And if he knew that, why didn’t he allow me to help him? And if anyone should know, shouldn’t his helper, the Prophetess?
“Come on, Prophetess,” I say. “You’ve gotta give me more. That’s the one thing I can’t stop thinking about.”
“I do not understand,” she answers.
“Those THINGS kill my brother, I hold him in my arms, and I can’t do nothing about it. Now all of a sudden, I’ve got the power to heal people? I mean why didn’t God give me this power two weeks earlier?”
Anna answers back firmly. “God’s agenda is not of our own.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” I shout back. “Since I was a kid it’s been, don’t question God, God works in mysterious ways, well I think it’s about time HE did some explaining. Hell, he’s asking me to be a pawn in his war. My brother dies in my arms, now I’ve got the power to … wait a minute?” Concrete forms in my eyes as they become affixed to Zeek. Now Gloria. As I approach, she watches me expressly, trying to gauge my intentions. “Glo, what happened to you?” I ask.
“What are you talking about?” she frowns.
“Come on Glo! Before you got these powers!” I feel myself growing aggressive, but I don’t care. I have to know more. “Something happened to you, didn’t it?!”
“Hey, man, just let her be,” says Zeek.
“Noooo,” I reply. “Just let me prove my point. I’ll get to you in a minute.” Refocusing my attention to Gloria, I try to quiet the increasing anger bubbling inside. “Okay, Glo, look, I’m sorry, but please just tell us if something life changing happened in your life right before you got these … gifts.”
Gloria stares straight through me. I’ve hit a nerve. “I—I found out …” she stutters. “I never knew my father. I mean not a phone call, a description, his name—nothing in nineteen years.” She looks towards the window. “Only to find out found out a man in my church whom I’ve known for years—respected—looked up to is actually … well, you know …”
“Whoa,” I say, taking a step back. Even I wasn’t expecting that. “Sorry Glo. How did you find out?” Her eyes mug me once more. She sighs, “I overheard my mother sa—”
“You OVERHEARD,” I say, cutting to the chase. I knew it! “And now, of course, you have the gift of … hearing. Wow.”
“You’re a jerk.”
That may be true but somebody’s gotta get to the bottom of this. “Look, I’m sorry, but this has to be said. Now go ahead Zeek and close us out,” I say, taking a seat on the couch. “What else has been going, on besides your daughter?” Zeek ignores me, opting to head for the door.
“I don’t need this,” he mumbles, but my words catch him before he can leave. “It’s okay, Zeek. I’m sure by now we can piece it all together. Let’s see. You can … see things, right? So using God’s twisted imagination, you probably failed to see something which caused harm to you or a loved one, right?”
Zeek’s face grows blank, still incarcerated by my words. They finally loose him as he stares at me in disgust.
“Oh my God,” says Gloria. “Your wife.”
“That is enough, Tre!” shouts the Prophetess.
“Like Hell! Look, I hate to bring up family skeletons, but it had to be said! My brother gets murdered, she’s crushed by some family secret, Zeek loses his wife, and for what? Just to get our attention? Hell, he could’ve sent a text message! That’s not God.”
The Prophetess gets in my face. “Who are you to say what is or is not like God?! This war is bigger than any of the combatants that wage in it!”
Ire rises in me as the normally docile woman steps even closer. I turn my back to her as not to have any sudden impulses. I’m not used to people being this close to me unless they’re ready to go toe to toe.
Anna grabs me by the shoulder. “But you’re right! God gives free will! Choices were made in each of those situations and choices were made in each of your lives as well! He did not initiate the misfortune of you and your family members’ choices, he utilized them! Mankind’s ability to choose is what makes him God!”
Like Zeek, I’ve heard enough as well. “Whatever,” I say, fanning off Prophetess Anna’s remarks. “I’m out of here.” Before I can open the door, Anna blocks the entrance. “Will you let your brother die in vain?” she asks.
“What?!” I shout, my rage increasing by the second. It takes everything in me to remember this is a 60-year-old lady standing in front of me. Otherwise she would’ve been clocked by now. “Move Anna,” I say slow and stern, making sure she hears and fully understands my temperament. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Gloria’s parents, Zeek, your brother, they all had a choice. And now YOU have a choice!”
“I’m only gonna ask you one more time,” I say, grinding my teeth. “Move out of MY … WAY …”
“Or what, William Turner, III?!”
That’s it! “Look! I said—”
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Before Tre can even raise an arm, Anna barely thumps him with the tips of her fingers. The slight touch somehow throws Tre’s 200-pound frame ten feet. Zeek and I watch in amazement as he lands on the coffee table, crushing it. My goodness, I didn’t know she had such power.
“They’ve already taken your brother!” Anna yells. “Will you let them take your mother?! Your father?! We cannot let the enemy win!”
Still on the ground, tears begin to flow from Tre’s eyes. “Martin! I’m so sorry!” he sobs. Even with his vile words, I see the torment he’s under. He really believes he is the cause of his brother’s death. I run to his side, because even I can’t imagine what that feels like.
“Shh,” I whisper. “It’s okay, Tre.”
“I know this hurts, my child,” says Anna. “But this is bigger than any of us.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Tre sniffles. He looks up. “What does HE want me to do?”
Anna scans all of our eyes before answering, “Believe.”
***
Hours have passed since Tre’s breakdown. I’m sure if it wasn’t him first, it could’ve easily been me or Zeek with all that’s gone on in the last couple of weeks. In the time since, Prophetess Anna has tried to bond with us as a group, discussing everything except our powers. Zeek’s eyes seem distant but Anna has made sure to keep him in the exchange. Talks have centered around our families, careers—or lack of—even relationships—or lack of. She relinquishes little information concerning her own background, but still I feel more comfortable around her. She has a way with words, which I guess is a big contrast to A’ma, who usually just barks out orders. Even though she doesn’t like to bring up her past, she definitely lets us into her current thoughts, especially as the conversation shifts to Bale.
“I agree. Bale is a strategist. He does nothing without reason. We must find out the specifics of his plans before we can move further.”
Zeek finally speaks up. “So what’s next for us?”
“We train, my child.”
Tre shouts his burgeoning catch phrase. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! So what we got Prophetess? Oozis? 9
-millimeters? Wait! Oooh, some sort of laser prototype gun, what?” He’s definitely back to his old self.
“Not exactly, my child. Do not burden your mind with details at the moment. Take tonight and tomorrow to rest. We will begin training Monday at sundown.”
“Cool,” says Tre. “Well tomorrow is Sunday. Guess I could go to church.”
“That is a great idea, Tre,” agrees Prophetess Anna. “I’m sure your father would be proud.”
“Not so sure about that.”
“Trust me. His heart is ready to receive you. You are his child.” Tre almost blushes at the comment. I guess in many ways we are alike. Stubborn, strong-willed, desiring our parent’s approval.
“Would you mind if I visited as well?” asks the Prophetess.
“Sure, why not.”
“Great. My children, enjoy the next 36 hours. Monday morning, we will prepare our minds, bodies, and spirits for battle. Our enemy is formidable and we cannot take him lightly.”
“I’ll do some research on the web for Bale,” I say. “Maybe I can find some info on what he’s up too. So much of what he does is meant to get a public reaction.”
“That is a novel idea, Gloria,” says Prophetess Anna. “Any information can be pivotal. Now be careful, my children. ‘Til Monday. And Tre, I shall see you tomorrow.”
Zeek and Tre make their way to the door. “Hey Glo, need a ride?” Tre asks.
“I’m good. I’ll see you Monday,” I smile. My grin comes across wider than I mean to convey.
“You bet you will,” Tre smiles back as he leaves.
“Is there something you need, my child?”
“Huh?” I turn to see Anna grinning at me. There seems to be a lot of smiling going on.
“Well?” she waits. I tiptoe around the subject like a nervous kid.
“I … I was wondering if—could I stay here tonight, Anna?”
“And what about your mother?” she asks. “Is she not ailing?”
“A’ma? She’ll be fine. Besides, I can leave when you head out for church tomorrow.” Prophetess Anna seems to be thinking it over. “Please?” I ask, looking over her shoulder.
“I do not mind my child. As long as your affairs are in order.”
I thank her by nodding and smiling.
“Besides, girls-night-in is always in order.”
My eyes widen with shock at Prophetess Anna’s moment of normality.
I call A’ma to let her know I won’t be coming home. Initially she snarls at my newfound attitude but a few quick reminders of her own recent conduct quiet her down. A knock at the apartment door cuts our conversation short. Although we hardly ever get visitors, I’m too afraid to stay on the phone and find out. The last time there was a knock on our front door it changed my life, and not necessarily for the better.
Hours later, Anna and I enjoy tea as we sit, legs crossed, on a soft, Italian leather couch. I’ve changed into a pair of Anna’s pajamas. They actually seem quite normal for the unconventional woman. She states she’s never worn them, which almost leads me to believe, somehow, they were meant for me. Anna even sports a pair of footies. It’s an understatement to say they contrast with her highly decorative golden colored pantsuit.
“So you can just read people’s minds?” I ask. Anna laughs, but the look on my face tells her I desire a serious answer.
“No, my child,” she smiles. “At least not in that manner. I see things—visions. But I am capable of reading individuals and that can tell me a lot.” A subtle change happens in Anna’s voice as a quick grin sets in the corner of her mouth. “And I mean a whhooooole lot.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“You know what I speak of. I was not always the woman you see today. I too was once young.”
She’s right. Who am I fooling? “I mean, I don’t know. One minute I can’t stand him, the next, he’s saving my life or doing something cute.”
Anna’s smile widens. “I understand my child. Just keep your focus. You must serve as the balance between the Three. There will be times when your counterparts are distracted by pride or ego. After all, they can’t help the fact they’re men.”
“Anna!” I laugh. I didn’t see that coming. Prophetess Anna continues to grin as she pours us another cup of tea. “Focus, my child,” she says. “So about your father. Have you talked to him since that night?”
Her abrupt shift in conversation completely changes my demeanor. “For what?” I say. “I have nothing to say to that man.” Making my way to the other side of the room, Anna doesn’t let up.
“My child, you must hear his side of the story.”
“I don’t wanna see him. I couldn’t face him even if I wanted too. Deacon Nichols? My … Dad?”
“You must talk to him, my child. You do not want to spend the rest of your life wondering. You have forgiven your mother, have you not?”
“Yeah,” I say. “But she’s all I got. Her ways are flawed but we all—” I stop. Anna catches it too. “Proceed,” she nods. “Still, it’s no excuse,” I sigh. “How could he just sit there all those years and pretend?”
“Pretend?” says Anna, casually clearing the coffee table. “My child, what if he never knew?” Although she never looks up to gauge my response, her words entice me to think. “You have the Gift of Hearing,” she continues. “Listen to your heart.”
She briefly leaves the room with a tray full of expensive-looking china. I take the moment to do some conversation shifting of my own.
“So Anna. That little move you worked on Tre. Think you could teach it to me?”
“Rebuke?” says Anna. “Well it was to be part of your training, but I see no harm in getting a head start on the boys.”
Did Prophetess Anna just wink? There is definitely more to this woman than we’ve seen so far.
Chapter 18
“MAARRRTINNN!!!”
I jump from my slumber, soaking wet. The nightmares haven’t stopped since my brother’s death. More vivid than the ones that frequented me before his passing, these lucid images cause me to experience the happening over and over.
I’m really thinking about not attending services this morning. I look over to the night stand but remember my morning ritual has changed. No more whiskey. Guess I’ll have to summon the strength on my own. It’s been months since my last visit to church and I’m sure my appearance is likely to cause a spectacle. The prodigal son, home after such a painful episode in the Turner household.
Maybe me being there will help a little, I think to myself. I haven’t really talked to my father much since …
Okay, enough of that. This is a fresh start. A new beginning, I tell myself in the mirror before breaking out into song and dance in my ever-so-fresh puppy-dog boxers.
“I got power, oh yeah!”
“I got power, oh yeah!”
“I got P- I got O- I got double UUUU- I got E- I got R”
“I got pow-pow-pow-pow-POWER!!!!”
I strut around the bathroom like a member of the Temptations. Distracting myself a bit seems to lighten my mood.
***
I try to remember the made-up song as I enter the church. A large poster with my parents’ picture greets members at the front doors. Never seen this one before. Must be new. At least slightly new …
As I look around, I think about the labor my father has gone through in establishing a modern worship center. An African-American man who spent his childhood in the race struggles of the sixties, my father, Pastor William Turner, Jr. is now proud to lead a multi-racial congregation. Last time I checked, around 2,000 people attend services every Sunday. Sometimes I wonder how it makes him feel to have his only two children rarely in attendance.
Mere steps inside and I am swamped by dozens of people before the start of service. Many offer condolences at the sight of the Pastor’s firstborn son. Some of these people I’ve known since I was a little kid, when the church was nothing more than a storefront and a handful of members. Other faces,
I hardly recognize. Many, not at all. Most comment on how they left me messages, did I get their cards, and so on. I try my best to remain cordial during the friendly bombardment.
“You desire a way of escape?” whispers a voice from behind.
“Prophetess!—Uhh, Anna,” I smile. “YES!” I begin to ad-lib my way out of the press. “Yes, my friends—God bless you all—I must show our visitor to her seat,” I say, holding Anna’s hand in the air. “Don’t wanna be late—uhh—praise God!”
The Prophetess and I make our way to the sanctuary. “Thanks Prophetess. It’s been a long time since …”
“I understand, my child. And how was your sleep?”
“Not so good, actually. These dreams won’t go away. Like they’re trying to tell me something.” The worship service starts as highly skilled musicians and singers lead the congregation in a fast-paced melody.
“We shall discuss more,” says the Prophetess. “The key is to remain focused.”
“So what did you and Gloria talk about last night?” I ask.
“Would not you like to know?” she smiles before standing and joining the audience in clapping to the music.
“Would not you like to know?” Who talks like that? Geez.
Finally, I take a cue from Prophetess Anna and try to engulf myself in the service. Might as well. I’m here. People of various ethnicities sing, clap, and even jump, during the highly energized opener. I had almost forgotten the boost one can get at my Father’s church … at my church. Maybe it’s the encouraging words in the songs or the creative riffs and beats of the musicians. Maybe I’m a bit homesick. Whatever it is, I definitely feel something. Not in the manner of enhanced strength or powers, but something more along the lines of peace … hope … love.
The large crowd roars as my father and mother walk onto the stage, a day after burying their youngest child. The couple makes their way to the podium, holding each other around the waist. My father doesn’t speak, merely shaking his head. He doesn’t have to, as his eyes fill with emotion. His face tells it all. It prompts the packed auditorium into an even louder ovation. Prophetess Anna squeezes a tissue through my clenched hand. I hadn’t noticed the tears.