Trouble's Always Watching Volume 1: Volume 1 (The Trouble Series)

by Courtney Smith

  “That’s uh good boy. Was that so diff’cult?” blurted another condescending voice.

  “Now, get tha boy ya called Trouble ta come ova here?” demanded another antagonistic voice.

  “We ain’t givin’ you no—,” shouted one of Reverend Stevenson’s followers, before interrupting himself when he saw the mentioned, adolescent walking slowly toward the men with his hands raised. The opposing group quickly surrounded Trouble with their rifles, pitchforks, and torches pointed toward his head and neck. A few men walked away backwards with their guns drawn upon Reverend Stevenson’s followers while others had their guns drawn on the source of conflict.

  “Trouble, I’m proud of ya no matter what happens to ya!” yelled Reverend Stevenson. The adolescent gave an acknowledging nod before the butt of a rifle was shoved into his back. They walked slowly through the dry, dusty field until they disappeared near some trees with Trouble.

  “Now take us to dat pit dat ya have dose men suspended o’er wit’ the gators at the bottom!” demanded one of the men. The captured adolescent walked ahead, slowly. Trouble felt a sharp pain in the center of his forehead like someone repeatedly stabbed him. He perceived several thoughts: Kill tha little nigger soon as he releases tha men. Throw ‘im in wit’ tha gators! Hang ‘im wit’ a rope o’er the pit! Let’s see how tha gators fight each other wit’ live food. Let’s teach ‘im what happens when ya mess wit’ good, White folk! The young man shook his head slowly with a bewildered expression upon her face. Where is alla dis comin’ from? I don’ hear nuthin. Dese thoughts jus’ flyin’ through my head! Another foreign thought entered his mind before he could think: I wonder what he’s gone do wit’ dose men? Trouble felt another blow to the back with the butt of a rifle before he heard the same voice.

  “Why ‘d you tie dose men up tha way that ya did?” He quickly realized he was receiving the men’s thoughts at that point.

  “I thought it’d be fun,” replied Trouble, smugly.

  “Well, we’re gonna have some fun wit’ you, boy!” replied another voice, indifferently.

  * * *

  Flames emerged and screams surrounded Trouble as claws and long, pointed canines tore through his skin and muscles while flames erupted through his thin body like a volcano.

  * * *

  Trouble blinked to see the same men surrounding him before his vision of Hell. His eyes became red from microscopic blood vessels exploding with immense pressure.

  The captured teenager leapt so high and quickly; he had the appearance of a blurred image. Some of the men fell over as a result of the blast of air from his ascension. He propelled himself into the air with such great speed and force; the airborne adolescent rose twenty-five feet above his previous position, and he had to grab a branch before he surpassed the treetops of the forest. Gunshots flew past him, but his perception was so sharp; he could perceive the bullets like a frame of suspended animation with his heightened senses. The powerful adolescent looked at the other trees, and he began to move through the treetops so fast; the men below got the impression that all of the branches in the forest were moving at the same time.

  The thick foliage of the forest shook as though it were in an earthquake. The men shot wildly, but they were not able to target him accurately because they could not see what they were trying to shoot. The treetops kept rustling and gunshots kept missing. Leaves, branches, and twigs continuously fell upon them like rain. The falling debris made it difficult for the men to look upward and aim, clearly.

  The young man rushed through the leaves and branches with a fury rivaling the winds of a tornado. A gunshot ignited a group of branches before anyone realized it. The enclosure of trees the group was shooting at Trouble within released small amounts of smoke. The targeted juvenile noticed the thickening fumes. I would wa’n dem, but they aint gone listen ta me. He decided to throw his voice, so it would get the men’s attention without giving away his location:

  “There’s uh small brush fire developin’!”

  “You don’t have ta lie, boy! We all gotta go, sometime!” replied one of the lynch mob. The wind shifted, and the fire began to spread very rapidly.

  “Stop shooting! I thank tha boy’s tellin’ the truth! Look at tha flames! We need to get outta here!” shouted a man.

  “If you wanna be a coward, you c’n go, but I’m gonna teach dat boy uh lesson,” replied Bobby Joe Mason. “No one’s suppose ta survive when I put uh noose ‘round anyone’s neck!” Why should I help 'em? I could let dem burn demselves up! But den it might not look so good ta heaven since I'm suppose ta help people!. He jumped from the branch he stood and threw pinecones at the men’s heads to get their attention. The men turned around and responded by opening fire.

  Trouble ran slowly enough for the men to keep up with him, but quickly enough for them not to catch him and avoid gunshots. A thought nearly stopped the strangely considerate juvenile’s thinking as though he just became a corpse: I almost completely forgot ‘bout the men that’re still suspended ‘bove the pit of ‘gators and snappin’ turtles! He quickly dashed out of the view of his pursuers.

  Small, flickering flames slowly shortened the fibers of the ropes suspending screaming men with tears rolling down their faces. Visibility seemed imaginary with the black plumes of smoke saturating the forest. One of the ropes snapped and gravity sent a man plummeting three feet before he stopped in midair. He opened his eyes and lifted his head up to see a thin, dark hand caught the rope's end. The black adolescent hand gripped the rope with the strength of a lion’s bite, slide quickly down the tree like he was a child on a playground until he was five feet above the ground, and swung the man onto the edge of the pit.

  He did the same with the other men very quickly until all of them were safe. A sharp snap of the branch Trouble stood upon sent him plummeting like a rock. The men barely made out a black silhouette falling despite the dense smoke surrounding them. Their eyes throbbed, squinted, and blinked to see nothing but a gray, smoky haze. One of the men crawled slowly along the ground toward the edge. Deep growls, snaps, and growls echoed throughout the forest.

  The fleer heard the footsteps of his recently freed brethren fading away and strained to listen to their direction. The man tried to push himself off of the ground before his muscles buckled and he collapsed. He proceeded to pull himself along the ground with splinters penetrating his palms and fingers. His legs and arms yielded to fatigue as he tasted the bristles and debris his hands pushed through only moments ago. He drew in a noisy, breath before his head struck the ground.

  His ear picked up several, loud sounds causing the ground to tremble, mildly. He realized the noises were footsteps. He strained to shout, but only a weary gasp he barely heard escaped his lips. He suddenly saw numerous boots surrounding him through the thickness of the haze. He felt several grasps upon his arms with his body being lifted from the ground, which seemed to imprison him mere seconds ago.

  “We found ‘em!” screamed one voice of from the search party, as his brethren began to cut the ropes.

  “Where’s da boy dat did dis to ya and da others?” asked the voice.

  “He actually let us go an' he fell from da branch afta he finished freein’ me?” conveyed the man with his voice cracking.

  “Ya act as though he didn’t deserve it,” responded the voice.

  “‘Ya reap what ya sow’: he created the pit fo’ you, an’ he fell in it.” The men slowly helped their comrade to his feet, and they extended their hands through the blinding smoke in their search for an escape. The two groups gagged and coughed as they made their way through the dense haze. Others held onto people for guidance in the burning chaos. The impacts of trees filled their ears as some were grazed by the burning plants’ descent.

  Their eyes became less irritated with fresh air awaiting them as they emerged from the haze. They immediately rushed out past one another until they were surrounding by dry, amber grass and clear, blue skies. Many stopped and allowed one another to fall on the ground wh
ile others kneeled over with their hands on their knees. Some of them placed their rifles on the ground beside them. A few gazed at the rising flames as they were in a trance.

  He felt the daylight's heat upon his back before he knelt, bowed, stretched his arms, and inhaled. He briefly saw his shadow and closed his eyes. The man opened his eyes slowly before glancing at the ground to see the shadow became larger without the sun's heat upon his back. He slowly turned his head and used his eyes to follow the shadow leading to a large, burly black man with his rifle drawn upon him. The large man was accompanied by a group of black men with their rifles poised and ready to shoot.

  The other survivors saw their vulnerability and slowly raised their hands. The survivors began to sweat with some mild, lightheaded uneasiness as they stared down the shotgun barrel of the coffee-grounds man wearing a deeply furrowed frown with tensed muscles. Other men chuckled and snickered as though they were gods being confronted by ants.

  “Where’s Trouble!” screamed the Reverend Stevenson with mildly pink eyes.

  “We don’t know where he is,” answered one of the men, indifferently. One of the men who were tied up earlier decided to speak.

  “Dat’s one brave boy, and I’m truly sorry fo’ the role that I played in his parent’s deat's. A few of us were hangin’ ‘bove a pit full of gators when the fire completely surrounded us. He actually came back and risked his life to set us free when he coulda let us—!”

  “Shut up! We don’t owe dese sub-humans any explanation! They’re suppose ta die—.”

  “Don’t you ever tell me to shut up!” responded the other man.

  “Somebody has ta because you aren’t smart enough to do—!” The man’s speech was interrupted when his head was jarred by five knuckles splitting his lip open. The other man responded, accordingly. Fists flew rapidly between them. Some others attempted to end the fight when a loud blast made everyone pause, instantly. Both groups of people almost instinctively stopped to view the source of the threatening warning. The two men who were fighting immediately ceased their physical bout and slowly turned toward the direction of the noise. The smoking barrel was pointing in their direction. Reverend Stevenson glared angrily at the men as he cocked his rifle. Many of the other men slowly placed their weapons on the ground and raised their hands.

  “I hope ya don’t think dis is over, boy!” threatened one of the members of the lynch mob, angrily.

  “If ya don’t tell us where Trouble is, it’ll be over for you!” asserted the reverend through squinted eyes and pursed lips.

  “Reverend Stevenson, he’s not worth it. Don’t throw ya life away!” pleaded one of his members. Reverend Stevenson’s lips quivered with grief, and a teardrop rolled down his cheek as his finger tightly gripped the trigger without pulling. One of the men who were fighting earlier slowly approached Reverend Stevenson with raised hands.

  “Sir, I meant what I said ‘bout bein’ sorry fo’ my participation in the killin’ of the boy’s paren’s. I am deeply remorseful,” offered the man apologetically with tears in his eyes.

  “Why don’t we lynch them!” shouted a couple of men in Reverend Stevenson’s group.

  “Shut up!” shouted an angry, belligerent Reverend Stevenson peered at the man with a glare that would frighten death.

  “If they lynch us and we lynch them, when will the cycle end!” asked Reverend Stevenson.

  “It doesn’t end! You people are just’ evil and need ta die,” asserted a member of the opposing group.

  “I don’t agree wit' him, but I use to ‘til I saw da lengths dat the boy went through ta save my life with those of other people…‘fore he fell into the pit. He was very strong fo' his age. He was very strong for uh human, period. He used uh single arm ta literally swing us to da edge of da pit where we wouldn’t fall in. I can’t speak fo’ anyone else, but I realized there was somethin’ wrong wit’ the belief dat black folk 're bad when da boy saved my life,” expressed the man in the fight.

  “I’m real happy for ya, but that don’t change tha fact that Trouble is dead because he was trying to save your ornery a—!” screamed Reverend Stevenson.

  “Why you tryin’ to be a frien’ to em anyway, Montgomery? It’s not like they goin’ ta invite you ta they house an’ break bread wit’ you or attempt to fo’give you,” reasoned another man in the opposing group.

  “I know when I’m wrong an’ how ta admit my mistakes, an’ dis is definitely one of ‘em!” screamed Montgomery.

  “Whatever! You’re just tryin’ ta save yo’ own skin, so you c’n survive and get revenge against us, later!” shouted one of Reverend Stevenson’s followers.

  The midst of the burning, smoke-filled forest revealed a large, green, leathery carcass with wide, muscular jaws protruding near the edge of the pit. The animal appeared to move by itself until its body was followed by a skinny, dark arm preceding the rest of his body upward. The hand preceded a long, skinny, muscular arm. Trouble slowly climbed over the dead alligator. He felt as though each fiber of his muscles were pulling concrete blocks. His eyelids felt as though lead was hung from them.

  The weary minor prepared to close his eyes when he heard a sharp sound of a rifle being cocked. He looked up through his partially closed eyelids to see the barrel of a shotgun taking up most of his perceptive sight.

  “I know that ya didn’t thank that it was gone be dat simple ta get rid of us! You‘re definitely uh freak. Tha word abomination doesn’t begin ta describe you. There ain't no such thang as a man or boy that’s able ta kill a gator wit’ his bare hands and climb out of a deep, steep pit full o' gators and snappin’ turtles There ain't no room in dis worl’ fo’ people like you! You mus’ die!” declared Bobby Joe Mason as he coughed from the smoke, “When I tie a noose ‘round somebody’s neck, they stay dead!”

  The adolescent knew he was at the man’s mercy because he was too tired to move. He could not dash with his usual speed nor could he use his uncanny strength to overcome his enemy.

  “Many of da people outside believe dat you dead, and there’s no sense in disappointin’ them,” suggested Bobby Joe Mason very coldly as he used his free hand to cover his mouth. He returned his free arm to the rifle as he aimed his barrel at Trouble’s head. The man slowly squeezed the trigger when he was interrupted. The shot was released into the ground as the rifle fell, and the owner collapsed and lost consciousness. A round, plump, woman was standing behind Bobby Joe’s unconscious body with a large branch in her hand.

  She staggered toward Trouble as she coughed repeatedly.

  “Don’t worry, Trouble; I’m gone’ ta get you outta here,” informed the familiar Dorothy Stevenson. She strenuously helped the teenager up, and she attempted to run through the dense smoke. The determined woman maneuvered through the thick, poisonous vapor in an effort to reach the other side of the forest. She shoved her feet as quickly past one another as she could, but her breathe was extremely limited because she felt as though someone had their fingers wrapped around her throat.

  Dorothy Stevenson tried to scramble to the edge of the forest to get fresh air and avoid being burned, but she stumbled and fell. She slowly lost consciousness when she felt a pair of powerful hands lift her body and moved through the forest with everything shifting past her like a strobe light. Her eyes slowly closed as she saw the blurred images of trees moving past her like a film.

  Hazy vision greeted Dorothy Stevenson with a warm, gentle breeze brushing up against her face and tickling her nose. She rose up to see a familiar, adolescent silhouette looking past a group of burning trees.

  “Thank you, Trouble!” she uttered from her lips.

  “I would say you welcome but I need to thank you first,” replied Trouble. He casually turned around, walked toward her, hugged her, and he looked down at her and apologized.

  “I’m sorry fo' bein' disrespectful toward you. Reverend Stevenson did remind me that I didn’t always have da bes' reputation fo' bein' uh good boy, and I—” started Trouble.

>   “I really should’a given you a chance instead of judgin’ you by yo’ reputation an’ listenin’ ta rumors and bein’ as harsh and as insensitive as I was ‘fore gettin’ ta know you,” interrupted Dorothy Stevenson. “Do ya think that you could ever find it in your heart to ever forgive me fo' da way I treated you an' allowed Reynaldo ta treat ya?”

  “You really shouldn’t ask that question,” declared Trouble. Dorothy Stevenson looked down in disappointment.

  “I’ve never known anyone to ask for something that they already have,” Dorothy Stevenson looked up to see a smile across the teenager’s face. She blushed with a deep sense of internal gratitude. Trouble's smile dropped when a sharp pain shot through his head, and visions of black men with rifles aimed at unarmed men. He glanced at Dorothy Stevenson with a blank expression and an open mouth.

  “I really think dat we need ta get to yo’ husband ‘cause I have tha strangest feelin’ dat somethin’ very bad’ll happen if we don’t get there in time. Somethin’ deadly,” emphasized Trouble. Dorothy began running toward the direction she thought the occurrence might take place. She rose to her feet and started to run before she felt a rapid movement lifting her off of the ground, instantly. Dorothy Stevenson felt the hands of the teenager, holding her above the ground with the ease of raising one of his fingers.

  Burning leaves, branches, and soil scattered as Trouble dashed through it. Screams echoed through the smoke before they saw an angry group of black men hold their rifles upon a white group laying on the ground. The marvel set the plump woman upon the ground and began walking to the disturbance before a chestnut hand grasped his arm. He stopped walking and slowly turned around to see a wide eyes and an intense focus staring directly at him.

  “Trouble, I have an unusual request for ya,” declared Dorothy Stevenson. The intrigued juvenile looked inquisitively into Dorothy Stevenson’s eyes.