The Assigned

by A. D. Smith

  “Me and Liz,” the grieving leader finally speaks. “We want to thank you for all your various expressions of love during this time. We have not, I repeat, we have not seen our greatest days. The best is yet to come.”

  Applause, once again, erupts from the seats. My father continues. “It’s no secret my son had his troubles. I’m not ashamed to talk about that. See, when a pastor is doing what he should be doing, the enemy can’t get him to fall. So instead, he goes after his family, his children.” I look around and see people nodding in agreement. Soft spoken amens can be heard. “But the last few months, I saw a change in my son. He was actually … trying. Trying to get away from some of the demons that plagued his young adult life …” Demons. I think about Bale and his men. If only my father knew. “… trying to become a better member of society. He was trying. And so I say to you young people, do all that you can do to better yourself, to be productive. So what if you won’t graduate in four years. Are you trying? So what you had a baby out of wedlock. Are you trying?”

  My father’s voice grows in fervor and volume. People rise again as the passion the charismatic pastor is so known for begins to emerge. “Me and Liz,” Dad holds mom tight. “See, we work on this every day. And we gon’ keep TRYING until the day one of us leaves this world.” Musicians accompany my father’s words, mimicking his rhythm and pitch. I’ve never noticed it until now, but that’s where I get some of my swagger from. That’s my dad, I smile with pride. “And thank God we still have one child. He’s not here today but I—” Rumblings vocalize throughout the audience. “I’m sorry, what? He’s where?”

  “He’s here!” the crowd shouts in unison. A cameraman finds my location, beaming my image to the projector screen. I smile softly, lowering my head. The two parents turn around to see the screen. “Is that you Tre?” my father asks over the microphone. Go on Tre, murmur folks seated near me.

  “You feel like giving your old man a hug?” asks my father in a comforting voice I haven’t heard in quite some time. The Prophetess firmly grabs my hand before softly letting go.

  I gather my thoughts and my body as I stand. Emotions swell as I make my way down the long aisle. I do everything not to cry but it becomes near impossible as I make my way to the stage. Climbing the steps, I see my mourning parents open their arms. The sight almost brings me to my knees. I want to tell my dad so badly how sorry I am, but as I try to mouth the words he quiets me.

  “Shhh. You don’t have to say anything. You’re my son, Tre. You’re my SON. YOU’RE … MY … SON.” Holding nothing back, I break down in the arms of my father as his words speak to my wounded spirit.

  ***

  Some time later, glancing at my watch, I notice the moment has lasted for nearly twenty minutes. I’m not quite sure how long I held on to my father. I only remember an endless supply of tissue, ever so often, being pushed into my hand by one of the assistants. Now I’m seated on stage next to my mother. She looks over every now and then to smile and pat my knee. My father talks about how I never stopped moving and how he nicknamed me Squirmy while still in my mother’s womb because of my non-stop activity, even way back then. He then goes on to say the Man Upstairs shared with him in a dream, that I hadn’t seen my last end zone, referring to me scoring touchdowns again in the NFL someday. This leads to an impromptu chant of, “T-N-T! T-N-T!” I smile as I gesture ‘calm down’ to the crowd. “I’ve also been told we have some special guests in the house this morning,” my father continues. “I’m sure you young people know all about him and I—yes, yours truly has even seen a couple of his action movies. And we’re so glad that while visiting our city he chose to worship with us this morning. Now let’s give it up for Mr. Jason Bale!”

  I scan the audience though I can see nothing through the now standing mass. No need. The cameraman finds Bale and entourage seated near the back of the church. Cheers erupt as the celebrity’s face is plastered on the screen. I can’t believe it.

  “What … in … Hell …”

  My eyes quickly find the Prophetess seated in the middle of the sanctuary. She holds up an open hand as if to say … wait. I turn my attention back to Bale. Sporting a red tie in his otherwise usual white attire, Bale stands as he waves to the crowd, even blowing a kiss. His ovation rivals that of the one given to my father. People whisper as others snap away with camera phones. How can they be so naïve? My thoughts quickly remind me of where I was just weeks ago. To the new me, Bale is a manipulative demon. Literally. To the people, Jason Bale is a handsome, talented, rich businessman and movie star. “But how can he even set foot inside a church?” I murmur under my breath.

  “Would you like to come up and have a word, Mr. Bale?” asks my father. “What?!” I nearly jump from my seat. Those seated close to me mistake my reaction for excitement. Bale smiles and shakes his head, no. My father persists. “Oh come on. There’s no telling when we’ll be graced by your presence again.”

  “Dad!” I shout, wishing my father was now privy to all the knowledge I’ve acquired over the last few days. He hardly hears me, the crowd now egging Bale on.

  “Okay, okay!” Bale playfully shouts from the back of the auditorium. “But I’ll stand right here. An usher quickly brings the star a microphone. “Thanks. Don’t wanna get too close to the pulpit,” he jokes. I bet. My eyes reach for the Prophetess. We seem to be the only ones not amused. “But seriously, I have definitely enjoyed myself in your city. Everyone has made me feel right at home …”

  “Feels like Hell huh,” I blurt.

  “… and I wish you, Pastor Turner, your wife, your son Tre, whom I’m a huge fan of …” My father turns, proudly nodding towards me. “… nothing but the best. I have great plans for this city and I hope you all can be a part.” The crowd offers the vile intruder the same prolonged applause offered to my father.

  For the remainder of the service, my eyes are affixed upon Bale and his crew. My father may have just delivered the sermon of his life, but I wouldn’t know. I can think of nothing more than jumping off this stage, leaping a few pews, and putting an end to the Jason Bale Show. Although a distance off, it almost looks as if Bale winks at me a couple of times. That arrogant …

  I wait for the Shadow to rise around the demonoid superstar or any one of his accompanying Angels. I wait for my Gifts to flare but nothing surfaces, other than my natural disdain for what I see. Occasionally I glance towards the Prophetess who does little other than shake her head.

  After service, young and old alike, rush to shake Bale’s hand. Some beg for pictures.

  “Do you believe this?” I say, getting to the Prophetess.

  “Quiet yourself, my child,” she says nonchalantly. “Bale did not come here to fight.”

  “Well I’m about ready to …”

  “He wanted to gather information on what he is up against. We must now practice extreme caution. He knows of your family. It is only a matter of time before he learns of the others, if he has not already done so. I am also sure by now he knows you are receiving my guidance.”

  “Maybe not,” I say. “There’s a lot of people here. Just stay back.”

  Bale makes his way through the crowd, snapping shots and signing autographs. He makes sure his presence is felt. I’ve seen enough as I make my way through the press.

  “What are you doing here, you snake?”

  “Tre! What are you doing?” asks a member clamoring for a photo. The big one—Amnon—grunts as his eyes try to intimidate me. It doesn’t work. “You want some more, big boy?”

  “Trrrrrreeeee,” smiles Bale as he autographs a teen’s necktie. “Tre Turner. Or do you like to be called William? Your father has a lovely church.”

  “I thought your kind couldn’t even stand near a church.”

  “Now where’d you hear a thing like that?” he laughs. “I’m not a vampire.”

  “Close enough,” I grit through my teeth, fists balled.

  “On the contrary. I love church. Some of my closest friends attend regularly. As
a matter of fact, I think I see a few of them here today.” Bale’s Angels chuckle under their tight white suits.

  “Why you—”

  “So this is who’s been helping you … little Anna.”

  “Prophetess!” I shout. “I said stay back.”

  “No matter my child,” she says, now standing boldly to my right. Her eyes cut through Bale’s flesh without the slightest hesitation as she proclaims, “I fear no evil.”

  “Oh, so it’s Prophetess now,” Bale smirks, turning to his Angels. “Well I guess congratulations are in order, little Anna. Oh pardon me …” Bale takes a mimicking tone as he bows. “… Prophetess.”

  The Prophetess nods. “The years have been kind to you, Bale. Almost too kind.”

  “Why thank you little Anna. Guess I can’t call you little anymore. What are you now, like ninety?”

  “Alive and well.”

  Bale’s irritating grin firms up. “So you are. So you are.”

  “And to what do we owe this honor, Beelzebub. My apologies. It is Jason Bale now, correct?”

  “That’s okay, little Anna. I’ve moved on from that identify. Why waste time fighting with the Other? I’m rich, successful, the biggest star in the world. What else could I want?”

  “What you have always wanted,” answers the Prophetess. “To rule this world.”

  Bale moves closer but he’ll have to step over my dead body to lay a finger on the Prophetess. “It is fine Tre,” she says. “He will not attempt to harm me here. It is bad for his image.”

  “Why Anna,” says Bale, too close for comfort. The Shadow slowly rises around his torso. A grayish haze appears to ooze from his pores, although not as strong as I’ve seen in the past. It’s almost like he controls its flare. But no matter. As I look around, I’m reminded no one can see what I’m getting firsthand account of right now.

  “Little Anna. Age has made you bitter. Look at you. Your hair is gray, your face wrinkled—”

  “And my heart is pure.”

  “That may be true.” Bale whispers, his face just inches from Prophetess Anna’s ear. “But one thing I am certain of is that you and your wannabe superheroes are way out of your league.”

  I’ve had enough. “How ‘bout a wannabe a—uhh, a wannabe butt—kicking.”

  “Cute. Well it’s been great catching up on old times Anna, but I have other pressing matters to attend. I’ve had enough church for one century.”

  Bale and his men make their way to the front door. “When it starts, we shall be ready!” affirms the Prophetess.

  “So be it,” says Bale as he and his Angels exit the church. Smoke-like vapor dissipates in the air as star-struck teens follow the men out.

  “I can’t believe it!” I shout. “Can you?”

  “We must begin training immediately,” says the Prophetess with little emotion. “Bale knows who you are. Contact the others and tell them to meet me at my suite in thirty minutes. Even I am not sure as to all Bale has in mind.”

  “No doubt. Got it. We’ll be there.” Prophetess Anna heads for a side entrance. “Prophetess! Anna! Where are you going? You need to stick with me.”

  “I shall be fine, my child.”

  “Well how are you getting home?”

  “I have friends,” she says, never turning back.

  Friends? There’s little time to process her statement as I walk out front to make sure Bale has left the premises. I watch as the white stretched Hummer slowly takes off from across the street. Loosening the knot in my tie, my mind readies itself for battle.

  Chapter 19

  The obnoxious ringtone of my phone serves as a noon wake-up call. It’s Tre. I let it go to voicemail. Another encounter with angels and demons or demons that call themselves angels, can wait. It feels good just being home with my family. No hospitals, no strangers walking in and out at all times of the night, just … family.

  Me and Alicia stayed up most of the night and watched as Christina played with her new toys, a surprise from some of the staff at the hospital. To see my daughter do something as simple as play with a new doll has made the last year all worth it.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” I yawn from the couch towards Alicia.

  “You were sleeping so well, and besides, Chrissy and I were having some girl time.”

  “Look Daddy!” smiles Christina, while pointing to her freshly plaited locks. “Aunt ‘Licia did my hair!” A great improvement over my beautician skills.

  “It’s beautiful baby. Good job, sis.”

  “Thanks Zeek.”

  Having acquired my first attention of the day, Christina happily skips to her room.

  “You never said anything about my hair,” beams Alicia, her hand gently sweeping across her recently acquired short-styled cut. “And stop calling me sis all the time.”

  “Huh,” I murmur, sticking my head in the fridge.

  “Nothing, Zeek.”

  I hear Alicia just fine but I dare not entertain that conversation. Alicia has been my rock since Angelina’s passing. She’s been a mother figure to Christina. I couldn’t have made it without her. But Alicia is my wife’s sister. Her best friend. True, it’s been four years, but I don’t think there will ever be a large enough span of time to make me see her any different. Although, I must say I am secretly happy she decided to chop off her hair. She looks a lot less like Angelina now.

  “I may have to go meet some friends later. Not sure when I’ll be back. Think you could—”

  “Of course. Don’t I always,” she says. I think I sense a slight attitude in her tone.

  “Thanks sis—Alicia.”

  “You’re welcome,” she smiles back. “So what’s been going on anyway?”

  “Whada you mean?”

  “I mean … I don’t know. You’re … different.”

  The thought causes me to smile. “Yeah, guess I am huh? I’m just happy, that’s all. Christina’s good, you’re good, I’m good!”

  “Angel would be happy to see the man you’ve become.”

  The statement makes me love the younger sister even more. Maybe not in the way she’d prefer, but in a manner that cherishes her nonetheless.

  Christina drags an expertly crafted wooden rocking horse from her room into the hallway. She bucks the swaying toy, while mimicking the horse’s neighs. Funny. I hadn’t noticed the expensive-looking present until now.

  “I don’t remember that one from yesterday,” I say.

  “It’s not,” answers Alicia. “It came this morning. Priority shipping.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  “Yep. Came with a note. I decided I’d let you open it.”

  “Hmph.” I tear the envelope as Chrissy shouts, “Giddy up!” to the imaginary animal. A small handwritten note rests at the bottom of the packaging.

  It would have been my pleasure in presenting the real thing, but I decided against, as to not appear too forward. So please accept this hand-carved 1948 Rowling classic as an alternative. Hopefully you and your daughter, Christina, can visit my stables one day and ride my collection of thoroughbreds. Let me assure you Mr. Myers, or Zeek if I may, I am all for family and would never harm a child or employ someone that did. Hopefully one day we can sit down and talk. I could use a man of strong conviction like you.

  Eternally,

  Bale

  Panic rips through my body. “Chrissy, get off that thing!” I shout, wrestling my child from the ever-creaking animal. Its entire appearance seems to change as the horse’s flared nostrils look ready to spew out a venomous mist.

  “What’s wrong Zeek?!”

  “Quick! Get down Alicia!”

  Christina screams as I heave her and myself to the floor. We wait. For what, I’m not sure, but I won’t be caught off guard.

  “It was just a—”

  My finger signals silence to Alicia.

  “It was just a gift,” she whispers. “What’s the matter with you?”

  We wait. Moments go by and nothing happens. The more I thi
nk about it, the more I know nothing is going to happen. At least not now.

  The ridiculous ringtone Christina selected for my phone brings a slight sense of normality to the moment. Not recognizing the number shown, something, nevertheless, propels me to answer.

  “Zeek, my friend. Did your daughter enjoy the gift?”

  “Just who the hell do you think you are?! You come after my family?! I will k—”

  “Enough, Mr. Myers. I mean your family no harm. Think about it. I could have done that already if that was my intention.”

  I hate to admit it but he’s right. “So what do you want?!”

  “You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Myers.”

  “What?!”

  Bale speaks in a slow, calculated tone. “Did your daughter … enjoy the gift?”

  “What do you think? Of course. She’s a kid.”

  His demeanor picks up. “Well great! I wanted to make sure I got something that would make an impression.”

  I say nothing, not knowing what to make of all of this. “Are you there?” he asks. “Zeek?”

  “Yeah. Is that all?”

  “Actually, I was hoping you’d take a ride with me.”

  “What? Are you crazy? And leave my family here to—”

  “Zeek … Zeek. We’ve been through this already,” Bale says calmly. “If it was my intent to harm your family, it would have already occurred. I merely want to show you something. I’m sure a lot has been said about me. I just want to share my side of the story.”

  I look over to Chrissy and Alicia. They watch as I ponder my next statement.

  “When?”

  “A car is outside waiting for you.”