Twisted Reunion

by Tullius, Mark

  I hear the sharp crack of him hitting the cement. I keep the camera pointed at the ground as I run over and see Tony on his back. I don’t know if he bumped his head, if he’s unconscious, but I hope I won’t have to call 911. I ask if he’s okay. I tell him, “Try to breathe.”

  There’s a noise right behind me. I turn, expecting to see the killer, but it’s just Tony’s spray can rolling on the concrete.

  “Jesus Christ,” I say and start to laugh, realizing how ridiculous I feel. There’s no one there. Just a stupid can.

  The yellow lights flash on. I’m blinded, but I blink a few times until I can see again. Oh God, I wish I couldn’t. Something is pooling around Tony’s head. It’s blood. So much of it spreading on the concrete. The red lights flash on, which makes it all the more vibrant. I want to run away, but it’s so beautiful inside the circle. The lights begin their mad cycle, speed to a full strobe within seconds, and it almost seems like Tony is moving. He’s not though, and I don’t know what to do. I just point the camera at him and keep filming. He’s going to be famous.

  The Infidels’ Prayer

  Amir signed his name to his latest decree, folded it in thirds, dipped his seal in the calf’s blood and turned his wish into law. Pleased with himself, he set the letter at the corner of his desk and turned his attention to the cheap television in the corner of his cramped, windowless room. For two months he’d been trapped here behind the gates. The Americans had gotten too close. He could no longer be seen in public, no longer walk the town square to give coins to the children or to taste the Lady Kabira’s dates or cherries.

  A loud knock at the door sent Amir to his feet. It was only ten o’clock and he had given orders not to be disturbed until lunch. He didn’t hide his irritation when he asked, “Who is it?”

  “It is I, Your Excellency, Raheem.”

  Amir peered through the looking slot. “What is it?”

  I’m sorry to disturb you, but we have a problem.”

  “Americans?”

  Raheem shook his head. “It is the prisoners.”

  Amir opened the door. “Get in here and explain yourself.”

  Raheem lowered his head and entered the room, his bloody hands working back and forth on a filthy handkerchief. He raised his eyes, looking more like a lamb than the bull of a man he was. “They won’t bow.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but I cannot bend their will. They say they will not be broken.”

  “You disappoint me, Raheem. They are but men, barely more than boys. They are not even military. They’re infidel.”

  “Yes, I understand, but they will not budge, and the crowd grows by the minute.”

  “You can’t handle it?”

  Raheem straightened to attention, his massive forearms flexing as he clenched his scarred fists. “I can handle it, but my approach may not be as Your Excellency wishes. Especially with nearly the entire town bearing witness.”

  Amir pointed to the door. “Go and do as you must.”

  “I have your permission?”

  “You have my blessing.”

  Once Raheem left the room, Amir moved to the three computer monitors lining the back wall. The crowd gathered around the Eastern Court was the largest he’d seen. They’d come to witness the young men who openly opposed Amir. Soon they would discover their fate. That was good. Even the most devoted follower needed a reminder.

  Amir admired himself in the full-length mirror. He was the image of excellence, from his perfectly creased beret to his shining black boots. To complete his outfit, Amir removed his sheathed sword from the gilded display case, attached it to his belt, and headed for the door. To hell with the Americans, these people, his people, needed to see his face. Just as he pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, a loud cheer erupted. He glanced back at the monitors and could see nothing but the maniacal crowd jumping up and down. He hurried to his desk, took out his Browning 9 mm and placed it in its holster.

  Amir started down the hallway and saw red footprints marking the carpet. Not only had Raheem proven to be ineffectual, he’d been careless and disrespectful, bringing the blood of infidels into Amir’s home.

  The crowd roared again as Amir approached the large wooden doors which led to the Eastern Court. Then silence. Slowly, he opened the door.

  Raheem rushed to Amir’s side, his opened knuckles dripping blood on the sand. “Still nothing.” Raheem used the back of his sleeve to wipe the sweat off his creased forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  Amir looked at the trail of blood Raheem had dragged in from the outer gates. He said, “Take me there.”

  Raheem nodded and led Amir down the path. As they crossed through the gates, the townspeople looked down on them from both sides. A chain-link fence kept them from getting too close to Amir’s greatness. The short path opened onto the Eastern Court, a giant circle of sand surrounded by the quiet crowd.

  On the far side of a statue of Amir’s father, the man the people had once adored, were three young men. Each was tied to a stake ten feet apart. When they’d been brought in the day before, their facial resemblance made it clear that they were brothers. Now they were unrecognizable, any familial features obliterated under Raheem’s heavy hands.

  “These men won’t bow only because they aren’t able to,” Amir said. “Untie them and surely they will recognize me.”

  Raheem shook his head. “They refuse, Your Excellency. Perhaps they will reconsider if you address them.”

  Amir wondered who should replace Raheem. “Move aside and watch how it is done.”

  Amir strode forward, stopped a few feet in front of the man on the left, the eldest and hopefully wisest of the brothers. Loud enough for the entire crowd to hear, Amir asked, “What is your name, my son?”

  “I am my father’s son,” the stick-thin man with the mangled face said. His smile revealed a mouthful of shattered teeth. “I am Mikal Marrash.”

  Amir slapped him across his cheek, the crack echoing across the court. “Do you not know who I am?”

  Mikal acted as if he hadn’t felt the blow. “I know what you are. The same as me and my brothers. Mortal.”

  Amir unsheathed the sword, placed its point to Mikal’s chin before the man could utter another sacrilegious word. “You are as ignorant as you are brave, but neither will serve you in my court.” Amir let the tip of the sword drag across Mikal’s chest, spilling new blood. “Pray your brothers have more sense.”

  The next brother, whose teeth and a bloodied piece of his ear glistened in the sand, looked Amir in the eyes, not once glancing at the sword in his hand.

  “And what is your name?” Amir asked.

  “Zachariah.”

  “You look brighter than your brother,” Amir said, even though he couldn’t make out much with the purple swelling. “Would you like for this to end?”

  “Very much.”

  “Good, good.” Amir turned to the crowd. “Did you hear that? This young man would like for this to end. He is a man of reason. He will bow down to me.”

  The crowd cheered, but not nearly as loudly as they had when Raheem had been working on the brothers.

  “You misunderstand,” Zachariah said. “I bow to no man.”

  Amir whirled around and drove the sword through the insolent man’s thigh. Zachariah’s cry was drowned out by the crowd. Amir stuck his face an inch from Zachariah’s. “You want to rethink that? I have all day.”

  Zachariah shook his head, grimaced when Amir pulled the sword out and shoved it through the other thigh. Another cry.

  “Pathetic fools.” Amir sheathed the sword. The first two brothers groaned and wailed as Amir walked to the third man. “And you,” he said to the big-bellied brother. “What is your name?”

  “Hassan.”

  Amir took the 9 mm from his holster and made sure Hassan saw it. “I want you to listen closely. You can save your life and the lives of your brothers. Don’t you want to?”

 
; “We’re already saved, sir. You can be too if …”

  The blast of the gun cut the sentence short and splintered Hassan’s left kneecap. “I can be saved?” Amir fired a round into the other knee, then returned to Raheem, who looked as if he wanted to say something, but wisely remained quiet. Amir ordered him to ready the spears and screamed at him to hurry when Raheem hesitated.

  The crowd went wild as soldiers trudged out the six-foot-long spears and inserted them into the metal holders beside each stake. When each of the glistening spears was in place, Amir raised his hand to signal for silence.

  Speaking to the crowd, Amir said, “I do not ask much of my people, but I will not tolerate disrespect. Still, as a kind and just ruler, I will give them one last chance.” Amir then asked the brothers, “Will you bow?”

  Mikal said, “You can hurt us now, torture us every single second for the rest of our days, but it will end, and then we will be welcomed into God’s arms and an eternity of bliss. So, no, we will not bear false witness.”

  Amir signaled his soldiers to proceed. He shouted to the crowd, “I cannot help those who refuse my hand!”

  As the soldiers untied Mikal and then his brothers from the stakes, leaving their arms bound, Mikal said, “We are not trying to be disrespectful, but we cannot bow to a golden idol.”

  “Raise them,” Amir shouted. “Raise them high.”

  Four soldiers surrounded each of the brothers and hefted the men onto their shoulders. Speaking over the cheering crowd, Mikal said, “We believe in one God!” His voice was soon drowned in the cheers as the soldiers pressed them high into the air where they hovered over the spears.

  The brothers prayed as one, “The Father Almighty, creator of Heaven and Earth …”

  “Impale them,” Amir screamed.

  The soldiers dropped the young men, the shlopp of the spears tearing through fabric and flesh as the brothers cried to their heaven. The crowd crowed their approval as the young men slowly slid down the poles.

  Amir was used to men screaming, but not like this, as if they were in the chorus of the damned. All they had to do was bend to him.

  Mikal was more than halfway down the pole, only a few feet of blood-slicked steel sticking out below him. Amir stepped next to Mikal’s feet, dangling over the ground. The skin over Mikal’s upper chest stretched a few inches up the spear, pointing to the sky.

  All three of the screaming brothers reached the blood-soaked sand at nearly the same moment. Zachariah’s spear had ripped through the side of his neck, a fountain of red flowing on both sides of the steel. Hassan the shortest of the three, hadn’t been so lucky, but even he continued to sing despite the spear exiting his right eye socket.

  The crowd stopped cheering, the entire court silent except for the brothers’ everlasting, “Ahhhh.” As if they had planned it, the three men finished their scream, “Ahhhhhh-men!”

  Amir turned, found Raheem standing wide-eyed next to the statue of Amir’s father. “Lower the spears!” Amir ordered.

  Raheem hurried to the switch. Gears grated beneath the ground and the spears tilted toward the statue. Each of the brothers was now positioned to show Amir’s father’s statue the respect it demanded, but the crowd did not cheer.

  As the blood pooled beneath him, Mikal turned his head to the side and looked at Amir. “We are not bending for you, only God.”

  Raheem ran to Amir’s side and whispered, “This shouldn’t be, Your Excellency. These men are not natural.”

  Amir’s fury at his first-in-charge blazed in his eyes. The man was no better than a superstitious little girl. “The spears are holding them together. They will bleed out like everyone else.”

  “No one else has lasted this long,” Raheem said. “They should be dead.”

  Amir backhanded Raheem across his face, stunned the man into silence. “And they will be.” To the soldiers, he yelled, “Remove the bodies and stack them here. The rest of you, bring in the wood.”

  The crowd came alive and cheered the soldiers as they ripped each of the brothers off the spears and sat them back-to-back a few feet from Amir. Wheelbarrows full of wood dumped their contents in a massive circle around the men. The frenzied crowd contributed by tossing branches, rags, and other items over the fence. This would be a fire like no other, an example of the fire that the irreverent infidels would spend eternity in.

  Mikal took Amir’s attention away from his people. “God forgives you.”

  Amir didn’t acknowledge the blasphemous remark, simply strode to the edge of the court. He pulled Raheem to him and said, “Douse them in gasoline.”

  Raheem picked up the can by the entrance and walked to the brothers as branches continued to rain down. He said something to the men as he poured the liquid on them, but Amir could not hear the words over the chanting crowd. He didn’t need to. Raheem had already proven what kind of man he was this day, but as long as the crowd couldn’t hear it, his words didn’t matter.

  Raheem emptied the can. Amir beckoned a soldier to bring him a lit torch. When no more liquid came out of the container, Amir tossed the torch, and the fire exploded, flames flying fifty feet high. The intense heat drove Amir and the crowd back from the pit. On the outskirts of the blaze, Raheem’s body writhed until he was nothing but charred debris for the other soldiers to consider.

  A voice from above shouted, “The statue! The statue!”

  Amir hoped it was a mirage, a trick the flames were playing on his eyes. The face of his father’s statue was melting. It looked like tears. “It’s titanium,” he said, wondering if the sculptor had lied. “It can’t melt.”

  But the tears continued to drip down his father’s cheeks. Amir ordered his men to extinguish the fire. Buckets of water sizzled over the flames when the singing began.

  The song was an infidel’s prayer. “Stop that!” Amir shouted at the crowd, disgusted that anyone would dare cross his decree. The flames continued to grow and the singing grew louder. Amir turned to his nearest soldier and said, “Take all the men you need and find those who are singing. Toss them into the pit.”

  The soldier stood staring at the fire and pointed. “From in there. They’re in there.”

  Amir pushed the confused soldier away. He shielded his face from the bright white heat. The statue was gone, a silver puddle spreading across the sand. The song continued, growing louder as three shapes appeared.

  Amir yelled to his men, “They’re demons! Send them back to hell!”

  Most of the soldiers ran. Those that stayed threw down their weapons. Amir fired a round into the closest coward’s head. “Kill them!” Amir yelled, aiming his pistol at the brothers in the flames. He fired. The round struck Mikal’s forehead. Amir fired again and again, emptying the gun into the flames.

  He threw the useless pistol at the figures and pulled his sword, waving it in front of him. “Stay back! Stay back, devils! Go back to the depths of hell. Please.” Amir tripped and scooted backwards on the sand. “I am sorry,” he said to the fire. “Forgive me. Please. Please …” He pulled himself forward and bowed his head. He recited the infidels’ prayer, each word he had banned from his city. He prayed with all of his heart and begged the one God to have mercy on his soul.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw Raheem’s charred body before him. He saw inside the flames. The brothers weren’t alive. They weren’t singing. They were dead.

  Amir looked at the ring of soldiers, realizing how crazy he probably seemed. He wiped the tears from his face and saw his men training their weapons upon his chest.

  Out There

  Darrell glanced in the rearview and cocked a thumb over his shoulder. “There she goes. Check it out.”

  “Man, keep your eyes on the road,” Mike said then turned to look out the rain-streaked back window. The small cluster of lights comprising Baker was disappearing. In another fifty yards the lights would completely vanish, leaving them with only their headlights and the occasional burst of lightning to alleviate the darkness of the desert.


  They followed the curve up the steep hill, and Darrell snuck another peek in the mirror. “Exactly seventy-nine miles to Vegas.”

  “Fine, but watch the road. And slow down.”

  “Stop trippin’, man, I got it.”

  Mike leaned over and checked the speedometer. “Drop it to sixty.”

  “I’m barely doing seventy.”

  “I don’t care what the speed limit is. I can’t see a goddamn thing with all this rain, and the last thing in the world we need is an accident.”

  Darrell eased up a little on the accelerator, but not without restating his opinion. “We’re never gonna get there at this rate.”

  “Relax. There’s no rush.”

  Darrell and Mike had been sleeping together for almost a year. Their families knew they were gay, but Jimmy didn’t. And Jimmy was all that mattered. Darrell turned up the radio. Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” blasted through the speakers.

  Mike pulled the phone from his pocket. One bar faded in and out. He figured they’d get better reception once they made it over this next mountain. Mike put the phone away and leaned back in the seat, listening to the pounding rain and Joe Elliot’s voice crackling in and out.

  Darrell slammed the radio’s power button with his palm.

  “What the hell? You trying to break it?” Mike asked.

  “Might as well with all this static. Look at this car; it doesn’t even have a CD player.”

  “You can deal with it for seventy-nine miles.”

  “It handles like crap. And it looks like it belongs to my mom.”

  “Exactly. What’d you want, a bright red convertible?”