by Chris Ayala
I looked over to my right, but could see nothing but crunched metal. That word again, more frantic this time. "Janice!" It was Marcel.
Reaching out my arm, I realized I couldn't. I'd been cocooned this massive steel and leather fist. Above me, light poured in. I looked up to see the street light. Just then, I figured out we had been in a crash. "Janice!" Marcel said, his arm reaching through the hole that once been the back window. At first, he grabbed me by the hair and yanked. I screamed, not only did it hurt my scalp but sent streaks of pain down my body as metal scraped me. "Climb out! You can do it!"
It hurt so bad, every movement I made just dug something deeper into me. But I had to get out. I had to rescue Mom. I had to live on. It gets easier.
I climbed out, blood covering my lilac dress and heels. None of it mattered; the ruined dress, the months of physical therapy I'd need for my damaged sciatic nerve, or even the massive amounts of scrapes and blood loss. None mattered more than my mother. Stumbling on my heels, trying to circle the crushed vehicle that resembled a smushed soda can, I didn't even had a moment to marvel at what I had just survived. On the other side, next to the truck mushed into the driver side of the limo, was my father holding something.
Covered in massive amounts of blood, my mother didn't even look the same. It looked like Dad was holding a mannequin. Mom was already stiffening. This wasn't like the movies, where you get a final goodbye. No need to check a pulse or repeat her name.
She was dead. I covered my mouth, wanting to bellow something. Some word. Some cry. But I held it in with my hands cupped over my mouth.
Secret Service tried to grab Dad, but Brent pushed them away. "Leave him alone! Leave us alone! Leave!" He screamed over Secret Servicemen's pleads to get them to safety. Without hesitation, he punched two of them and fought one other. Tears flowing down his face, I'd never seen Brent that enraged. He looked at me. It took me a moment to realize, it wasn't me he stared down with scrunched eyebrows and ground teeth. Brent was staring at Marcel next to me. "You did this," he growled.
Hands shaking over my mouth still, I looked to my right and saw Marcel no longer able to stand and slid down the side of the wreckage. "I did this," he whispered.
Dad kept repeating the same question, rocking the body of my mother. "Why God? Why?"
I couldn't take it anymore. I ran. Ran towards the woods. Ran as fast as I could. No. No. This wasn't happening. No. It was a nightmare. Mom wasn't dead. No. No. No. I kept running, keeping that word locked into my mouth until I was far away. Far away, hiding in a corner where no one could see me. No one could hear me. Weak. I felt so weak.
I let go of the cupped hands around my mouth and cried out at the top of my lungs. "Mom!"
Nelson handed Janice a tissue, needing one badly for himself too. Both their faces wet and sore from the sorrow of a family's death. And the sorrow of a family that shattered the day a car window shattered. Janice buried her face in Nelson's chest and they held each other, praying their faith would heal the wounds. But it wouldn't. Everything Janice did, nothing erased that day. Not only was Marcel just a shadow of his former self, so were they.
She wanted to continue the story but couldn't. Explain how the nation reacted. How the media reacted. How all the outpouring of love didn't seal that wound.
"You all should've died." Adam whispered.
Wiping his forehead, Gerard scowled, "Jesus, you never have the right thing to say."
"I'm just recalling what Marcel Celest said, in the future." Adam clarified, "He said in my vision they should've died that day. It changed everything."
Janice sat up, "What do you mean?"
Delicately, he answered, "Your brother, I mean the future version of your brother, said he changed fate. That he had the power to do that."
Whipping her runny nose, Janice said, "It's called Fatalism. It states we all have a predetermined destiny."
"Yes," Adam nodded, "except him. Well, that's what he said anyways. So, he basically changed what was supposed to happen that night. You were all supposed to die in that be limo together."
Gerard sucked his teeth and crossed his arms, but Janice wasn't so skeptical. It didn't seem so far-fetched that everyone's purpose could have an interruption. Theories about fates always concluded that knowing choice was a facade meant a chaotic order to humanity. While some might be okay with releasing the wheel of their ship and letting an outside force decide where the wind blows…others might not be okay with this. So the subject remained controversial to investigate further.
But what if?
Thoughts swung around in Janice's head. She asked, "He said that? That fate is real?" Her eyes darted around faster than the neurons in her mind. It all suddenly made sense. She stared at Nelson, like she could telepathically communicate with him. Her father gazed into the distance, contemplating what he'd heard too.
Janice whispered, "We should have died that day. Or else none of this would've happened." She then turned to Gerard with timid eyes, "I know how to stop Marcel."
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Royal had nightmares of this place. The endless subway tunnel with white and maroon walls. Paintings of Russian leaders stared back at her. Surely, they had gone through much worse circumstances than her brutal days in Russia. In order to survive, they learned what Royal had learned: fear was a weapon and not a state of mind. Nightmares were for the weak.
The air began to suck away as a subway car approached. Perfect timing. Sitting patiently on the bench, Royal reached down and turned her rings so that the pointy ends stuck out. Then she cracked her knuckles.
When Zharkova had brought her here, it was a test. Today would be the final exam. Royal had studied and intended to pass. When the subway car pulled up, she briefly remember her nightmare being much worse. The Russian tough girls had been red-eyed demons with sharp teeth and even sharper claws. This time, when the doors opened, the succubus monsters weren't so terrifying. That one with the pink mohawk smacked her gum like it was all the food she had that day. Probably was.
Royal didn't hesitate. She threw a hard punch into the mohawk's chunky nose. Blood spurted out. Another girl appeared, that one with long ugly fingernails. Like all rough 'n tough women, she grabbed for the hair. Royal anticipated that and clasped her hand. She ripped out one of those fake fingernails, then stabbed it into the bitch's knee. She screamed. Another jumped on top of her. Whoever it was, didn't matter, Royal just bit as hard as she could onto the ear lobe. The girl screamed. Now, it was time for Royal to throw some uppercuts. She locked her arms around one of the girls and kicked another one away. Even for a horny teenage boy, this scene wouldn't have been very alluring. Blood covered most of them. Royal continued to punch one of them until she was pretty sure the jaw bone broke. Getting up, she intertwined her finger through the matted hair of the gold-toothed skank and smashed her knee into the girl's face until the tooth broke. The fourth girl tried to jump on her, but missed. Royal shoved her into the subway car metal pole. A loud thunk ended the fight.
Royal stood over four girls that couldn't stand. She took several short breaths before her breathing returned to normal. It sounded like relaxing music hearing the painful groan from girls who had beaten her to pulp almost a month ago. In each of her nightmares since that awful day, Royal woke up in sweat. Yet she hadn't even broken a sweat this moment. Being feared had its own sense of satisfaction. One of the girls tried to grab her foot, but Royal kicked her in the head.
Calmly, she removed a subway map from her back pocket and sat in a seat to read it. The pink mohawk girl leaned up against a pole and began to use her shirt to wipe the bloody nose. Royal looked at her, then pointed to her map. "Ugolnaya gavan'," she said butchering the Russian language.
The mohawk girl frowned. She seemed disappointed that she lost the brawl, but respectful. "Da."
From her other back pocket, Royal pulled out a notepad. Listening to Russian music helped to learn the language; she learned that from a friend. Looking at her notepad, R
oyal said, "Take me there. Voz'mi menya tuda!"
The girl with the gold teeth spat out a tooth and slumped into a seat. The other girls didn't attempt to continue the fight either. There's no point. The mohawk chick nodded and said, "Da."
"Now!" Royal barked.
Slowly, but quickly as she could muster, the girl stood and walked to the driver seat. Royal watched as the long fingernail chick yanked her nail out of her knee. The last girl pulled out a pair of brass knuckles from her pocket; they still had Royal's blood from the last brawl. She extended her hand and offered them to Royal. Without saying anything, Royal grabbed them and put them in her pocket. A peace offering didn't deserve a response because actions spoke louder than words.
It was time to go to the port and gather everyone up for an even bigger fight. As the subway car rolled away, Royal took one glance out the window. Those painting in the subway tunnel would forever be instilled in her mind. She imagined a painting of her someday. But first, she had to win the war.
I enjoy music but I enjoy the beat of my children's hearts better.
-Victoria Celest
First Lady of the United States
2033-2038
CHAPTER FORTY
Drenched in sweat and shivering in the cold, Janice opened her crusty eyes to the sound of knocking. Three knocks, to be exact. Strong and deep, the noises almost sounded like knocks on a wooden door and not the steel one of her room. She heard this superstition before; it meant certain death. It meant a creature in long black clothing knocked three times before entering. Silly, yet she also thought the accusations of Marcel controlling minds and weather were silly too. She closed her eyes, hoping the Grim Reaper would scrap its sickle on the ground as it approached, hold the weapon inches from her throat, and swipe quickly. She closed her eyes and prayed. Prayed to a myth. Please end the pain, please end the suffering.
When she opened her swollen red eyes, the Grim Reaper wasn't there. A 28 year old man, who looked more like 22 with those baby cheeks even through the bushel of a beard, stared down at her. "Did you hear me?" He said, sounding desperate and hurried.
"No," she groaned, sounding a bit disappointed that the knock wasn't coming from the Grim Reaper.
"Your idea, Janice. You…can't. It's…no…no, I won't allow you to leave."
Instead of arguing, she nodded. Honestly, the thought of leaving the silo with such little energy seemed infeasible at this point, but when it was feasible…Adam wouldn't be the person to stop her. It was an abortive promise.
She sat up, because lying down made her more nauseous. Pulling up her shirt, stuck to her in sweat, she glanced at her abdomen for only a second. Turning black and yellow, like a large bruise, Janice couldn't stare at it any longer. On the other hand, Adam gawked at it. "Tomorrow night, we are going into town for medicine."
Another abortive promise. Janice knew walking into a pharmacy demanding prescription medications without prior authorization would be as fruitful as trying to grow lilacs without light. So again, she played off his attempt at reconciliation with a nod. "Let's talk about something else."
"Like what?" He said sitting down at the edge of her mattress.
"I don't know. How about telling me about Brent? You never told me how you knew each other."
Adam looked down at his arm, the tattoo was beginning to flake and he started picking at it; picking right where the name Brent Celest was on his forearm.
She objected, "You know you aren't supposed to peel it off. Just let it heal."
"But it itches."
Feeling like his mother, which she could practically could be, she reached for a basket of lotions next to her bed. "I have Aloe Vera. Nature's best cure. Give me your arm."
He reached over and rested his arm on her leg. She poured the thick clear goo into her hands and rubbed it gently over his scabby skin.
"Well, I knew Brent because of Mr. Declan. We met…ah, that feels so good…anyways, we met when I was about thirteen."
"I wasn't aware you had known each other so long."
"Yeah. Right. Long time, huh. He helped me with my science studies. Mr. Declan used to home school me. I used to think I was privileged until the truth came out that I was a being studied for my ability to foresee the future."
"Figures. Brent loved science and space subjects." She replied, wondering if heaven was in space somewhere and how happy her brother would be at this moment, if it was.
"He taught me everything I know and I taught him everything I knew. You know, deep down, Brent really did care. I mean…he really cared. So much, that it made him angry to disappoint anyone."
Janice nodded, accepting the truest description of her brother. She continued smoothing the aloe on his skin. "I can't believe you covered your skin in tattoos. Are you ever going to stop being so imprudent?"
He smirked. "No promises."
She returned the smirk and put away the lotion as he rolled down his sleeve. "Can I ask you something?" Adam asked. "Did you hate him?"
Obviously, referring to Gerard, Janice shook her head. "No. Disappointed. But never truly hated."
"I mean, not when you guys separated, I mean like…" Adam's eyes wandered off, whatever he was trying to ask…it was very diluted. "Did you hate him when you first met?"
Janice snickered, "Oh yes. Very. He tried to sweep me off my grounded feet. I couldn't stand Gerard. Three years in a row, he told everyone I was going with him to the Homecoming Dance, even though I firmly said no." She grinned, "Finally, in our Senior year, I said fine. Mom bought me this dress that hung so low on my cleavage and so high on my thigh. God, I felt so embarrassed and relieved at the same time in that dress. He showed up at our door step in a tuxedo two sizes too big, he said it was his step brother's suit. The limo was a black spray-painted Sudan from the late 90s. It died at four stop lights before we got to the dance." Janice leaned her head on the wall. "All these pretty girls at the dance, and he never looked away from me the entire night."
"How did you know? Like…how did you know he was the one?"
Suspecting this wasn't a conversation over jealous, but a genuine inquiry, Janice answered as best as she could. "When no one else matters, that's how you know."
Adam nodded. "I wonder if that's what love is about. Getting all that hate and bitterness out of the way at first, that leaves nothing but love. Right?"
Just a year ago, she remembered having an affair with Adam and thinking he was another horny college student. It had taken her this long to affirm he was much more than that. "I've spent so many years teaching and teaching. But never learning."
"Sorry. I don't understand."
"It's the complexity of life that has drove us all to understand every aspect. We can teach, but to learn is another path. I tried to teach how to create peace by avoiding the mistakes we've made in humanity. A spiral of repeated history has evolved us to what we are today. But teaching can only go so far. You have to learn on your own." Janice touched his cheek softly. "That's what was fascinating about you. You've taught yourself everything, but learned so very little."
He sniffled, doing a terrible job of hiding his tears. "Don't die on me."
"No promises," she whispered.
Hours past, reminiscing and chatting. Gerard had popped his head in every once a while, always the jealous type. She reassured him they were fine. Even though nothing constituted fine in this matter. Janice was going to die. She knew it. The only thing she didn't know was when. When would that knock on the door not be a visitor, but the last visitor…Death.
Adam had tried reading to her, helping her fall asleep as the clocks struck midnight. After several pages of the book, Janice looked up, "Are you reading me a comic book?"
"Ahem," he cleared his throat, "it's a graphic novel. And I have no other books."
She giggled, "You are such a geek."
A knock on the door startled them both. Maybe Adam was expecting a deadly visit too. Instead, Willie peaked his head through the door. "My turn."
> Adam looked at his watch. Only now did Janice realize they were taking shifts, caring for her. Like this room was some sort of hospice. The jester made her feel more like a burden. "I'm gonna get some rest," Adam said, "I'll finish this tomorrow. I bet you can't wait to hear what happens to Supergirl when she confronts Eclipso."
"Can't wait," Janice said, kissing Adam on the cheek, knowing it would be the last time she saw him. He left the room, while Willie sat cross legged on the floor. After opening up a paper bag, he pulled out a cup of cheeses and a bottle of red wine.
"Okay, it wasn't easy, but I got you covered. Cabernet, your favorite." He whispered as though prying eyes watched him in this closed room.
Before she could ask did he bring glasses, he whipped out two small jars from inside his trench coat. "Oh and I got," Willie said, reaching in his coat pocket, "Something to help you sleep, like you wanted." In a clear plastic baggie, a white powder jingled around. Given they had no way of manufacturing pills, powders made from plants and mushrooms, had to mashed down. Except for the brownish color, it looked like cocaine. It reminded her of those drug-induced days, where she felt the sky wasn't the limit. After emptying out napkins and toothpicks from his coat, Janice was convinced he would've made a perfect partner to sneak snacks into a movie theater.
"Thanks," she whispered, grabbing the powder. "Could you check the door is locked?"
Without questioning it, Willie got up and locked the door. "It's weird, you know. Growing up in Philly, my grandma would've killed me for leaving the door unlocked. Ever since that one time someone walked in and stole the television while she was doped up on Ambien. But since I got here, I trust people, you know?" He listened at the door. "Coast is clear." He quickly sat down, Indian-style, on the mattress across from her. "So. You going to tell me?"
"Tell you what?" Janice said, sipping from her wine glass. "How drinking alcohol is probably the worst thing I could be doing to my body right now?"