The Assigned

by A. D. Smith

  Chaplain Bryant makes his way over. “Mr. Myers,” he cautiously nods.

  “My friends call me Zeek.”

  It takes a moment for the Chaplain to process my statement. “Okay, Zeek. And how are you, sir?”

  “Everything’s great Chaplain. Pretty great.”

  His eyes watch me until they finally believe what they see. “Well that’s good. You look like a new man.”

  “You have no idea,” I chuckle. The Chaplain joins in on the laugh.

  “Well, you don’t know what it does to me and the children to see Christina so full of life.”

  “Well we owe a lot of it to you.” An awkward look spreads across the Chaplain’s face. “You do? Why do you say that?”

  “You gave my baby hope. Even when her stubborn young father couldn’t do it, an even more stubborn Chaplain did.” Chaplain Bryant’s smile stretches from ear to ear. “You taught her not to give up. And I’ll never forget that.” As I extend my hand, a tear rolls down the preacher man’s face. Instead of a hand, a tight squeeze greets me as the Chaplain hugs me with all his might.

  The visit lasts for another fifteen minutes or so before Christina and I make our way downstairs. Chaplain Bryant walks us out. “Sometimes you think what you do doesn’t make a difference but then you see a miracle like Christina and it makes everything worthwhile.”

  I can’t help but pick the faithful man’s brain. “Chaplain, I know you’ve seen Christina come a long way and all, but there’s so much evil in the world, so many people dying. How do you know any of it’s real?”

  “You mean my faith?”

  I nod.

  “Well that’s just it, son. It’s faith. It’s believing in something you can’t see. And I choose to believe. That’s all I can do. That’s all any of us can do.”

  He’s right. It’s my choice. It’s always been my choice. “Of course every now and then,” he continues, “we’re blessed with things we can see that encourage our faith.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I say, smiling down at Christina as we head for the exit.

  “And looks like you kept that new stride, Mr. Myers, or shall I say, Zeek,” the Chaplain says, referring to my limp, or rather lack thereof.

  “Like I said, Chaplain, you have no idea …”

  -----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------

  I pull up to the cemetery right before the heavy rain. Memories of Martin’s funeral are just as fresh as the smell of raindrops falling to the ground. No liquid poison needed for this trip. Nope. I’m done with that life. Just me, my God, and my brother.

  I remember the exact location of the tombstone with little effort. As I kneel, my fingers run across script chiseled into a massive granite block. They read,

  Martin Luther Turner

  Son, Brother, Friend

  1994-2013

  “Man, I never thought it would end like this. I know we weren’t the closest, let’s face it. We were so different. You wanted to be a gangster. I wanted to be the ladies man. I wanted to fit it, you wanted to be a rebel. I liked Jay-Z, you liked Pac.” A soft smile holds my face as the words continue to flow. “But I figured, later in life, I’d be successful, you’d finally sow your oats, and we could kick it. Take our families on trips, do cook-outs—you know, the things brothers are supposed to do.” Thunderous beads of rain now fall, masking the tears of a wounded sibling. “But I guess it didn’t work out that—Martin, I’m sorry! I didn’t know. I DIDN’T KNOW!!!” My clothes drenched, I look to the sky. “Oh God! Forgive me!”

  I sit silent for a moment. Just the melodic patterns of rain. No one answers. Not in the heavens, on the earth, nor in the ground. Or do they?

  “I found out who did it, Martin,” I say, more composed. “And I’m gonna make it right. You always said I’d be a preacher. Well, I don’t know about that, but God’s definitely got something for me to do.” I look down at my pulsating hands. “He’s given me these Gifts. This power. And I guarantee you one thing.”

  Again my fingers rub across my brother’s name. “THIS … won’t be in vain.”

  ***

  I receive a text from Prophetess Anna reminding us to be back at the suite by sundown. I never pictured her as the type to text message. I can still hear the King James voice even through the words on the screen.

  Everyone has already arrived by the time I show up. The room is filled with so much laughter, they hardly notice my presence. Even Mr. Sternface—Zeek, is smiling ear to ear. “Knock, knock.”

  “Oh there you are Tre,” smiles the Prophetess. “I was about to get worried about you. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s great. I see you guys are having a good time.”

  “Oh yes. Ezekiel was sharing of his days as a rodeo clown.”

  “Zeek? Rodeo clown? C’mon man. Really?” Zeek raises his hands and hunches his shoulders.

  “Hey man, I’ve worked all kinds of jobs. But that one takes the record. Three hours. That’s it. When the bull came after me, I jumped over the railing and kept on running. I ran past concessions, past the restrooms, past the front door. That was it!”

  This is the first time I can recall Zeek being … funny. And that’s when it hits me. We’re finally a family. Which makes my surprise all the better. “Man, that’s crazy! Well since everyone is in such a good mood, I guess this is the perfect time to give you these.” I pull three boxes from my gym bag, handing two of them to my partners. “One for you, one for you, and one for me.”

  “What do we have here, Tre?” asks Zeek.

  “Well, you guys are always kidding me about watching too many movies and all that, but growing up I always wanted to be the characters I read about. You know just some kind of superhero. And now, crazily enough, God has given me that chance. And what does every superhero have in common …”

  “Super … powers?” shrugs Gloria.

  “Well yeah, you’re right. But what else?”

  Zeek and Gloria shrug again.

  “A costume.”

  “Hey man, I’m not wearing any tights,” puffs Zeek. “Forget about it.”

  “And I’m definitely not wearing some skimpy bikini,” says Gloria, rolling her eyes. “Or some tight latex bodysuit. Hmph. Please.”

  “Will you two just open the boxes?”

  After a few stubborn moments, Gloria goes first. Enclosed in tissue paper is a black, ribbed, sweater-like garment. A small black emblem is sewn on the right sleeve. “See, not so bad, is it?” I ask. Gloria’s eyes are still affixed to the trendy pullover. “Definitely not what I had in mind,” she grins. “Thank God.”

  “Your turn Zeek.”

  He mumbles as he opens the sealed white cardboard box. “You see what they’re trying to do to me, Anna?” he says, pressing his way through tissue paper. “They want me to look like Justin Beiber. Now if that’s how you get down, fine. But as for me, I’m not—Hey!” Zeek finds a black leather vest resting in his box. A bit more sleek than any I’ve seen him wear, but his reaction denotes approval. A raised triangular symbol is embroidered on the back. Three grooves perforate the side with a circle resting inside the top of the triangle.

  “Now THIS is what I’m talking about!” shouts Zeek. Everyone laughs at the familiar words. “Thanks man.”

  “Yeah, thanks Tre,” says Gloria. “I like it.”

  “No problem guys.”

  “So what’s in your box?”

  “Just a v-neck T-shirt.”

  “Tight, I’m sure,” says Gloria.

  “Tight? Never. It’s called fitted. I can’t help if the guns jump out!”

  “Black as well?” asks Prophetess Anna.

  “Yep. I figured since Bale and his boys love to wear white, we’d let the good guys wear black.”

  “And what’s with the symbol?” Zeek asks.

  “Well seeing how Bale has his mark, I figured we could have a logo. You mind?” I reach for Zeek’s vest. “See the triangle represents God and the three grooves represent us, the Three of
Three. And the circle at the top is for you, Prophetess Anna.”

  “Wonderful, Tre,” smiles the Prophetess. “Very creative. Such symbolism. And here I perceived it to simply be a fancy ‘A’.”

  “Funny you should say that. It is. The symbol has duel meanings. It also stands for the Assigned.”

  “The who?” asks Gloria.

  “The A-ssign-ed,” I enunciate. “I know we’re technically the Three of Three but that sounds so Chronicles of Narnia-ish.” I switch my voice to a crude but effective British-like accent. “We’re the Thray of Thray, keepas of da story.” Gloria shakes her head at my antics but my point has been made. “I remember what Prophetess Anna said when we first met her, about God assigning these special Gifts to three people every few generations, and it just stuck with me. The Assigned. You think it’s okay, Prophetess? At least for our generation?”

  The others and I wait for Prophetess Anna to speak. She seems to be in great thought.

  “You okay, Anna?” asks Zeek.

  “I am blessed to have you children in my life,” she finally whispers. It looks as if she’s trying to hold back tears. “And the Assigned is highly appropriate, my child. Highly.”

  “Awww,” I smile. “You guys know what time it is. Group hug! C’mon, bring it in.” Gloria, and Prophetess Anna move in closer. “C’mon on Zeek. Don’t make me come get you.”

  “So we’re really doing this, huh?”

  “Yep,” I say, while squeezing my new family. “Now that’s what I’m talking about …”

  ***

  Prophetess Anna is never quite the same after the moment. We spend the next three hours reviewing the same plan, over and over. A worried countenance has consumed her ever since I gave out the garments. Didn’t know a sweater and vest could have such an effect. Or maybe it reminds the Prophetess of something. Not sure what, but the monotony of today’s lesson is a bit draining to say the least.

  “Now remember my children,” she continues. “You must do your best to not physically confront Bale on tomorrow. You are to be as a beetle in porridge. Not enough to change the flavor but enough to make it undesirable. There’s still so much we have to learn.”

  “Uhh okay. We got it Prophetess,” I reassure her. “Look, it’ll be a piece of cake. Big Pete hooked me up with some surveillance footage. We’ll show it and have Bale and his boys running for cover. After that, they will not want any of this. Shoot, we might not even get to use our Gifts. And I owe a couple of ‘em a lil something extra!”

  “Yeah,” Gloria agrees. “I told a producer down at the station about the video Tre got from Sin City. He says if it’s as good as I say, he’ll run it.”

  “Please focus, my children. I know you feel this power radiating inside and you have had modest success in battle so far but believe me when I say … you have not seen Bale’s true power.”

  “Don’t worry Anna, says Gloria. “Bale won’t know what hit ‘em.”

  Chapter 24

  Morning comes sooner than expected. It feels as if I laid my head down just minutes ago. I awaken to a black sweater staring me in the face as it drapes itself on the back of a reading chair. My outfit. Actually, it was a pretty sweet gesture by Tre. My mind does wonder where this could go after … after all of this hero stuff. Who knows. We’re so different, but I’ve seen him change so much in these couple of weeks. Again, who knows? My main focus is reminded to me by the ever-gawking black sweater. The Fight. No, we’re not supposed to engage Bale and his Angels in any manner, but I’m ready for some action … if it so chooses to find us.

  Anna is already up, fully dressed, and pacing the floor by the time I make my way to the common area. She makes a brief smile towards me before the distressed look returns.

  “Hey Glo,” says Tre, his mouth half full. “Prophetess Anna said we could have some orange juice. Tastes like heaven after that other stuff.” I nod in acknowledgement as I reach for Anna’s hand.

  “Is everything okay, Anna?”

  She looks at me with an uneasy gaze before speaking. “I didn’t rest well my child.” A youthful glow hides behind her aged eyes. Long gray hair rides her shoulders. I don’t know how she manages to keep it so pressed. She wears black pants with a shimmery effect and a black custom-fit button-down top. Even in one of the simplest outfits I’ve seen her wear, she still looks regal.

  “Everything will be fine,” I say. “We’re just going to level the playing field. You can show us more when we get back.” I look over to Tre and Zeek in the kitchen. “I’ll keep them in line,” I smile.

  Anna squeezes my hand back. Slowly, the wrinkle lines retreat as she grins, “Well, we all have our assignments, now don’t we?”

  I smile back, now holding both of her hands. I see so much of what I would like to see in my mother. Not sure why, but the moment almost brings me to tears. Seeing through her fiery-like eyes, I can see the adoration she has for each member of the group. She truly thinks of us as her children.

  “It’s okay, Anna. You’ve taught us well.”

  “But not enough.”

  “But well. Very well.”

  Tre and Zeek interrupt our impromptu ‘girl’s moment’.

  “We gotta get going Glo, if we’re going to put this plan of yours in effect,” says Tre.

  “I know. You ready Zeek?”

  “To go confront demonoid superstars?” Zeek smirks. “Sure. Why not? Besides, this’ll make for a great book one day.”

  “Man, who you telling …” laughs Tre.

  ***

  The team looks good in black, I observe, as we make our way to Tre’s car. Zeek sports his new leather vest, t-shirt, jeans, and a ferocious looking pair of shades. His hair also seems extra spiked today. Not as long and tangled as it was the day we met in the park. I wear the Assigned sweater as requested by Tre. For some reason, I actually thought about today’s wardrobe before putting it on. I opt for jeans instead of jogging pants and boots instead of tennis. Like Tre said, probably won’t get to have any real fun today. Tre wears his v-neck t-shirt—it’s actually a nice fit—with beige cargo pants and grey chucks. Looks like the stubble has been shaved from his bald head. I have to admit, he’s cute. But he’ll never hear it from me.

  Zeek walks straight past the sedan. “Where you going, Zeek?” asks Tre. “I thought we would ride together. Don’t tell me you’re gonna trust one of those rinky-dink bikes today?”

  Zeek continues walking, turning only slightly to respond. “Yeah. Well, this right here ain’t rinky-dink.” Tre and I look at each other a bit confused.

  “What is he talking about?”

  “You know Zeek,” responds Tre. “Ain’t no telling—wait a minute! I don’t believe it.”

  I turn back around to see Zeek standing in front of a beautiful custom-made motorcycle.

  “Now what were you guys saying?” he mouths as he mounts the burly chopper. Tre and I quickly move closer to get a better look. The bike looks like something out of a magazine. Nothing like the—pardon the term—junk that Zeek rode before. Chrome finish shines on an elongated body. The gas tank and fender are a pearl white color. What looks like wings and some writing I can’t quite make out yet, are drawn on the side.

  “It’s beautiful Zeek.”

  “Man, who you steal this from?”

  “Nobody. It’s a project I’ve been working on for the last couple of years.”

  “Angel,” I say, reading the side.

  “Yep,” smiles Zeek, kissing his hands before transferring them to the bike. “My Angel.”

  “I knew it was some class somewhere deep down inside of you,” says Tre.

  “Well thanks.”

  “I’m just foolin’ with ya man. Let’s take that chariot out for a spin.”

  “I’m right behind ya.”

  -----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------

  Gloria uses her news station credentials to get us in the packed-out ballroom of the Peabody Hotel. I’m used to the moniker, TNT Turner, being enough to ga
in entrance to the trendiest of spots, but not today. The room is filled with reporters, cameramen, staff, and even a few fans. Knowing Bale, he probably had them hand selected. A podium is situated at the front of the room atop of a large platform built for the press conference. An erected wall stands about ten feet behind the podium. ‘Bale Media’ and a logo run across the wall many times over. It’s the Mark, but drawn with a more modern, contemporary flare. The first shape takes the form of a cleverly designed, ‘B’ with ‘ALE’ running downward. A small circle sits in the middle. The next shape is an inversion of the first shape but made to look like an ‘M’ on its side. ‘EDIA’ runs upward. This guy is something else.

  “You guys see that?” I ask. “Broad daylight.”

  “Anna was right,” says Gloria.

  “You know it.”

  “So what now?” asks Zeek.

  “Ima go find my contact,” says Gloria. “We should wait ‘til Bale makes his announcement. Otherwise, it might not have the same effect.”

  I nod in agreement. “Let’s do this.”

  Gloria makes her way through the press as Zeek and I remain posted in the back of the ballroom. The lights go dim as the pep rally atmosphere heightens. An announcer can be heard over the PA system. “Ladies and gentleman, I present to you … Bale!” Rock music plays as strobe lights flash in every direction. Smoke rises from the ground. My initial reaction is, the Persuaded, but this haze is made by a canister. Images of ‘Bale Media’ and the Mark flash across two large screens positioned near the front. As the smoke clears, bodies clad in white materialize on stage. First a woman and a man I’ve never seen before, take their places on either side of the stage. The next faces are a bit more familiar. Bale’s Angels.

  The men take their time strutting across the stage as theme music guides their footing. Looks like they’re appearing smallest to tallest. Lastly, the giant, Amnon, emerges. Fans cheer as the overgrown oaf takes his place. “They’re not all that,” I say, reaching over to Zeek. He stands, hands folded, sunglasses on, taking in the spectacle. The music changes to a more intense beat as the ring leader comes out to a standing ovation. Mr. Bale himself. Photographers snap away as Bale bustles around like a motivational speaker amped on energy drinks. Waving to the crowd repeatedly, he prances back and forth across the full length of the stage. As the smoke subsides, a new one surfaces. The Shadow now engulfs all on stage. Bale, his Angels, staff included. The men pose like rock-stars as the grayish-black haze hovers around each of them. Hairs on my arm rise as my body instinctively gets ready for battle at the sight of the tell-tale sign. I look over to Zeek. Before I can say anything, he nods. “It’s funny. We’re really the only ones that can see this,” he says. I scan the crowd of screaming fans and news-hungry journalists. “Yep,” I agree as no one seems to notice the true headliner on stage; eight people, all wearing the Shadow. What a sight. Briefly I imagine being in a room filled with hundreds of them. Thousands. I decide to not let my mind go there.