Emerging (Subdue Book 2)

by Thomas S. Flowers

  “I do. Look. I—”

  “I can’t do this.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t keep doing this, John.”

  “Karen…?”

  “No. It’s not fair. Not to Tabitha. Not to me. And not for you. You don’t want help, fine. You want to just drink it all away. Fine. But you can do that alone. I’m not going to wait here and watch you kill yourself. It’s too much. You’re asking too much.” Karen turned. Wiping her eyes, she went back in through the screen door. A second later she returned, luggage in both hands. She looked dismally at Johnathan and then started for the van. Another second and Tabitha came running out on to the porch.

  “Hi, Daddy!” Tabitha exclaimed, running up to him, throwing her short arms around his waist. “Eww,” she cried, “you’re all wet.”

  “Yes, hun. I sure am,” Johnathan faked a smile, stunned. He watched Karen load the van. His heart sank.

  “Come on, Tabby. We need to get going,” Karen called, standing by the sliding passenger side door. Tabitha hoped up and buckled herself into her booster seat.

  Johnathan stood by the driver side.

  Karen approached without looking at him. “Get a ride with Jake,” she said coldly, eyes fixed on the van.

  “Please.” Johnathan reached for her.

  Karen drew back. “I can’t,” she said. “I—” she looked at Johnathan, “I need space. Time to think this through, okay? Please.” Her eyes were wet.

  Johnathan looked at his wife for a moment, swallowing the anger, the guilt. “Okay,” he said. “Okay…”

  “We can talk tomorrow. I just need time. I need to think, we need to think about what’s best for Tabitha, for us.” Karen smiled weakly.

  Johnathan opened the driver side door. “If that’s what you want,” he said without emotion and immediately wished he hadn’t. Wished he’d said something else, told her at least that he loved her, that he was planning on getting help. That he was planning on going this time, seeing it through.

  Karen looked hurt. “I don’t want this, any of it, Johnathan. But I’m dealing with it, the best way I know how.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  Karen put on her best ‘We’ll see’ look and loaded into the driver seat. She pressed the ignition switch and buckled up as the engine roared to life. Peering in the back she asked Tabitha if she was ready. The girl mumbled something from behind her big bug book. Looking back to Johnathan her eyes widened, as if she had just remembered something important.

  “Have you seen Bobby?” she asked.

  “Bobby?”

  “Yeah. Jake mentioned something about a fight last night?”

  “We said a few words.”

  “Well, he’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “His room is empty. Even his ruck is gone.”

  “Gone?”

  Karen shrugged. “Jake is talking about going to look for him in town this morning.”

  Johnathan looked at the dirt driveway, unable to mask the painful throbs of guilt.

  “You should help,” she prodded.

  Johnathan looked at her, hardly able to mask his feelings. Their gaze lingered for a time. And then he nodded, “Sure.”

  “Good.” Karen shifted into reverse. “See you.”

  “See you.”

  Karen exhaled and backed down the drive. Johnathan watched the van disappear in the haze of early morning dust. He watched as his family pulled out on Route 77 and promised then and there to keep his vow to get help. He would get help, not just for his wife and his step-daughter, but also for himself. He watched until there was nothing left to see but for a few crows fighting over a garter snake on one of the fence post beams across the road.

  Johnathan turned and went up the porch and inside the house. The screen door clattered shut loudly behind him.

  CHAPTER 18

  JOTHAM

  Jake

  The sun hung in the sky, somewhere near noon, as they drove into town. It was late winter and already starting to feel like summer had come. If not for the menacing clouds on the horizon, it would’ve been a picture perfect day in Jotham, Texas. Jake drove, his thoughts swaying between finding Bobby and last night’s dream, of the monastery and the insect-esque Renfield. A part of him wanted to connect the dots, search for some sort of otherworldly meaning to it all, of pending doom perhaps, but the other half, his rational side, clambered for the more mundane, of his own guilt becoming an infestation inside his own conscience. Wasn’t it obviously? The guilt? The repression? The silence? The emptiness? And if he wasn’t careful, he knew his emotions would consume him, to the point of hallucinating again. He couldn’t be for certain, but the possibility was there, like a cold cord thrummed against his spine.

  Johnathan reclined in the passenger seat in Jake’s borrowed Volvo. Likewise, from the look of him, perhaps his own thoughts tittered precariously on qualms all his own, of not only finding Bobby or maybe the apology itself. Or… maybe he’s upset about Karen and what he’d have to do to make things right. Jake had seen enough husbands and wives enter his church office with desires for divorce to know the signs.

  “Kinda strange, isn’t it? Bobby taking off like that,” Johnathan spoke up. He leaned forward, fiddling with the radio. Classic Shreds 106.7 was rocking Jotham airwaves with “The End” by the Doors. “Love this song,” he said. Falling back against his seat, a satisfied smile crept across his unshaven face.

  “What song?” Jake asked.

  “This one, “This is the End.”” Johnathan turned up the volume, listening attentively to Jim Morrison wailing about his only friend, “The End.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s deep.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s about death, mostly, and the repercussions of war, killers and Vietnam and shit.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. Pretty cool, huh?”

  “I thought it was mostly about having a bad acid trip.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, the Vietnam thing is because it was in that Apocalypse Now movie. But I think the more likely reason the lyrics are so Oedipus sounding is because Morrison had taken a hit of acid before recording.”

  “Well—whatever, it’s still cool.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to bust your bubble or anything.”

  “You didn’t,” Johnathan said indignantly. “Songs can have meaning beyond the artist. Sure, Morrison was probably tripping balls twenty-four seven. What really matters is how the audience reacts to the song. Isn’t that what good art does? Brings out your interpretation?”

  Jake nodded. “So, what you’re saying is that this song has meaning to you?”

  “Yup.”

  “And that meaning is…what? About the war?”

  “I think so. Yes.”

  “Vietnam? Or…ours?”

  “Yes. No. Maybe. Both.”

  Jake looked at Johnathan queerly.

  “Look man, it’s just how I feel,” Johnathan said, shrugging.

  “Okay.”

  The two sat for a while, listening to Morrison rattle on about a snake and a highway going to an ancient lake. The drive down Route 77 was as country and banal as any rural route in Texas. There was nothing but droll fields of mute green shrubs and brown dirt and the occasional decaying barn or silo belonging to distant eras.

  “Do you think we’ll find him in town?” Johnathan asked, looking out the window, his gaze avoided his own reflection in the glass.

  “Don’t know. Maybe.” Jake looked at his friend. “Feeling guilty?” he prodded.

  “Guilty?” Johnathan huffed, though it sounded to Jake to be more or less in contemplation than confirmation.

  The former minister stayed quiet. His gaze moving from Johnathan and quickly back to the road. He could have said more, but his gut told him his childhood friend had more to say for himself. Call it a priestly intuition, if you happen to believe in those s
orts of things.

  Johnathan grunted. “Yeah, maybe I am. Sure didn’t mean to drink so much. Didn’t mean to carry on like I did. I was just going to have one beer. One goddamn beer! Oh—” he stopped, looked at Jake, “sorry, Padre. Didn’t mean to take the Lord’s name like that.”

  “Dude.”

  “Anyways, maybe I got caught up in all the excitement. Seeing everyone again, being together again. Even without—” Johnathan swallowed, “Ricky.”

  “And Bobby?” Jake glanced.

  “And Bobby…” Johnathan parroted and the cleared his throat. “He didn’t deserve everything I said. It’s his life. He can do whatever he wants. I think I was just pissed that he didn’t reach out to any of us, you know? If he was or is in trouble or something, why couldn’t he have found one of us?” He looked at Jake, his eyes cried for some kind of agreement, that he hadn’t been an asshole to Bobby for asshole sake.

  “I get it.” Jake admitted. “But maybe there is something else going on, something he’s not ready to share with us. Or maybe he can’t share with us.”

  Johnathan nodded. His gaze seemed to consider something internal, something perhaps Jake had triggered. Morrison was gone, replaced by something by the Steve Miller Band, “The Joker” by the sound of the song. Johnathan was studying his cane which rested between his legs. The glossy black reflected back glimmers of sun rays coming in through the passenger side window. Finally he looked back to Jake and then to the road, “I hope Bobby hasn’t skipped town yet. Karen’s gone, and Tabitha too, that’s bad enough. But if we don’t find Bobby, it’ll break Mags’ heart up pretty bad. Damn. I’ve really made a mess of things. Supposed to be here for my friend, and I can’t even get that right. Ricky’s right, I’ve blown it.”

  Jake looked at Johnathan apathetically. “Ricky?” he asked tenderly.

  Johnathan looked away.

  The borrowed Volvo cruised on down Route 77, passing a large wooden sign that read:

  JOTHAM COUNTY FAIR

  ARMED FORCES APPRECIATION DAY

  Car Show

  Antique Tradeshow

  Arts & Crafts

  Charcoal BBQ Challenge

  Face Paint

  Fireworks at 8:00 p.m.

  Johnathan turned in his seat, following the sign as they passed it up on the road. “Do you think he went to the fair?” he asked.

  “Not sure. From the trip up here, he doesn’t strike me as someone who enjoys crowds very much.” Jake turned the Volvo on to Main Street.

  “He’s not alone, but it’s worth a look, at least, don’t you think?” said Johnathan.

  “Sure.”

  “Plus we can get some deep fried Twinkies while we’re looking.”

  “Or funnel cake.”

  “Hmm. You know, the girls and I went to this fair over in Pasadena last year and they had fried cokes!”

  “A fried coke?”

  “Yup!”

  “That’s—”

  “Amazing?”

  “Well, I was going say disgusting, but sure.”

  “Whatever. It’s Fair Food. Not gourmet twenty-dollar plates. A place like here, I bet they’ve got fried frog legs, fried pizza cones, fried key lime pie, fried mac & cheese, fried bananas, bread pudding, chicken fried bacon, and fried zucchini weenies. All kinds of fried goodies.”

  “They’ll fry anything nowadays.”

  “It’s the American way, Padre!”

  “Johnathan!”

  “Sorry.”

  “You need to stop calling me that.”

  “Force of habit.”

  Jake shook his head, perturbed, but only slightly. The fairground was up ahead. Rainbow tents pierced the horizon. Balloons bobbled on the wind. Tractors growled in the distance. A large red and gold trim Ferris wheel turned. Folks were lined up in front of the Petting Zoo googling at the horses, cows, pigs, and waiting on the ponies for the little ones to ride. The picnic area was in full view, benches lined up for the locals to congregate and dine on all the finer things in life. There was also a carousel, glittering purple and red in the midafternoon light. There were vendors and concession stands of all sorts. Drums, horns, soprano clarinets, saxophones, and cymbals clanged rhythmically from what he could only assume to be the local High School Marching Band playing near the open field with the aluminum bleachers on either side.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Johnathan said, his gaze dancing with renewed jubilation.

  Jake smiled. Somehow all the worries in the world melted at the sight of such Americana. “Sure is,” he said.

  “Just because we’re looking for Bobby doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time, right?” scoffed Johnathan, grinning like a kid who’d just discovered the joy of bottle-rockets.

  “No law against that.”

  “Good.”

  “Look, I’d like to stop by St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church while we’re here,” Jake said, pulling the Volvo to a halt behind a plum colored Chevy pickup, watching some fresh-faced deputy direct traffic nervously away from all the fairground commotion.

  “What? Why?” Johnathan sounded confused, almost as if he were insulted that someone would rather step inside some dusty old institution than enjoy the warm sun and tasty treats at the county fair.

  “It’s on the Painted Church Tour, that’s why,” Jake retorted.

  “Painted what?”

  “Painted Church Tour. It’s a circuit of old churches in the area. There’s one in Giddings, south of here. Seguin. High Hill. Dubina, Praha, Shiner, Ammansville—”

  “Okay. Okay. But still. Why?”

  “I just do, okay?”

  Johnathan looked at Jake curiously. A wirily smile crept on his lips. “Sure thing, Padre.” He winked. “And here I thought you were Pentecostal. Thinking of jumping ship?”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Presbyterian,” he corrected.

  “Whatever.”

  The young deputy waved them forward and directed the Volvo to the gravel parking lot. He parked the borrowed car and killed the engine.

  “So, I take it you will not be joining me at the church?” Jake said, jiggling the keys in his hand.

  “Not really my thing.” Johnathan gripped his cane firmly making his knuckles white.

  “Not even if it’s an historical site?”

  “Why would that matter?”

  “Don’t you like history?”

  “Sure.”

  “Curious. Didn’t you want to teach history?”

  “What? Like a lifetime ago.”

  “Not anymore?”

  “I don’t know. I guess not. Haven’t really thought about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Jeez, what is this?”

  “I’m just curious, Johnathan. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  “No. It’s okay. Umm, I guess…in a way, things have changed.”

  “How so…?”

  “I’m with the Wounded Warrior Project for one. Helping other vets get their life together. Heal wounds. Job placement. I’m kinda just rolling with the cards I’ve been dealt, you know. Doing a lot of public speaking. Talking about the things that happened to me. Shared experience, and shit, I guess.”

  Jake studied Johnathan’s face for a moment, then said, “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you like doing what you do?”

  Johnathan reeled, eyes wide. “Do I like doing what I do?” he parroted.

  “Yes. Do you like it?”

  Johnathan was silent for a moment, and the he said, “Some parts of it I like enough, but…no, I guess mostly I don’t. Not that I don’t feel honored helping other veterans. I do. I just…And the WWP helped me out a lot when I got back. This old Vietnam vet, Russel, he pulled me from a dark place.”

  “But now—”

  “Now I feel it’s all become too much. Rehashing everything on a weekly basis is a rough business. It’s good to talk, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes you gotta just…”


  “Move on,” Jake offered.

  “Move on…” Johnathan said.

  “Look, if you ask me, at the time, I think you found something you needed. And the war will always be with us, but it doesn’t have to be the only part of us. Maybe now what you need is to find something you want to do, rather than continue doing something you feel obligated to do. Make sense?”

  Johnathan watched a group of people walk past the Volvo. His eyebrows lifted. Eyes seemed to clear. “Yeah, I think I do.”

  Jake nodded, pleased. “The war doesn’t have to define us, Johnathan. I think we have a problem of letting it do just that. Circumventing our every decision. Clouding judgement. Letting it cage us. No doubt the things that happened during combat have shaped us, changed us in some fundamental and all too terrible way, but that doesn’t mean we surrender our identity to the darkness. We ought not to be subdued by it. We should be who we are, in the here and now. Not who we were yesterday.” He took a breath, pondering for a moment everything he’d just told Johnathan, if he could believe it for himself. Could he let go, just as he asked Johnathan to do? Forgive himself? Not be angry for any unintended loss, but just being thankful for who he was now?

  Johnathan gazed at Jake with a look of amazement.

  “What?” Jake asked, feeling somewhat exposed.

  “And here I thought you quit the ministerial world, Padre.” Johnathan beamed, but it wasn’t cruel, it was warm and kind.

  “I left St. Hubert’s…but I guess I didn’t really quit being a minister. I’m not even sure a minister can actually stop ministering.” Jake rubbed his temple, feeling a sudden and intrusive headache coming on. He pulled out his pack of Camels and lit one. Taking a long drag, he looked at Johnathan.

  “Shall we see what Jotham has in store for us?” he suggested, nodding to the fairgrounds.

  “We shall,” Johnathan agreed.

  ***

  Paul

  Jotham, the town some miles north of Giddings, with the tallest building standing no more than three stories high erected in 1980 when Rudy McFarland, a Union Banking Corp exec who got burnt out on Wall Street and headed south purchasing several acres just outside of town and a plot within city limits for his new business venture raising buffalo for milk under his new company, McFarland Dairy, a subsidiary providing for Whole Foods, did not deflect from its simple small town charm. The last census showed the total population of only 3,400 residents, including Kenny Murray, an ornery hermit who’d slammed his screen door on the poor census takers, residing in a lonesome looking shack on Mayberry Hill. Of the total Jotham population, two percent were of American Indian heritage, a half a percent were Asian, twelve percent African American, three percent biracial, seventy percent white, and twelve and a half percent Hispanic. And of all the places to visit in Jotham, from Suzie Carmichael’s Donut Shop where you might run into Sheriff Cecil Connor who had a mean sweet tooth, to the Rio, a 35mm projection theater that opened back in 1950 showcasing old classics, such as True Grit, Casablanca, The Godfather, and during October playing the more risqué black & white pictures such as Frankenstein, Night of the Living Dead, and Psycho, the Jotham County Fairgrounds attracted the largest crowds, including tourists, much to the delight of Mayor Robert Low who’d served as mayor for the better half of the century, as some would say, priding himself on Jotham being the friendliest little town in Texas.