by Lewis Wolfe
It was she that kissed him during one of those nights and it was then that Meriday first understood the use of the instrument in his pants. He didn’t know how it worked, exactly, but the girl had a clue. She helped him inside of her and they clumsily grinded each other to an explosive sensation of warmth and relief. Afterward the girl whispered words of love to him, but Meriday wasn’t sure what they meant. Love had never been an aspect of his reality.
That love was tested one disastrous evening in April.
Meriday walked off the field after his work was done and saw how the Master’s daughter tended to the dogs. They were wild and vicious, same as they had always been, and barked and growled at the girl that brought them water.
When the girl saw Meriday the butterflies in her stomach took her for a spin. She lost her focus, took that one horrendous step too many, and one of the dogs jumped and pulled at her arm.
Briefly the two animals quarreled with each other over who would get the best part and then they tore at her arm and shoulder. The flesh went straight off her bones, exposing veins and muscle.
It took a moment for the girl to start screaming, as it took a moment for Meriday to react. He ran toward her and was determined, hellbent, on saving the one person that had ever shown him kindness in this horrible, new world.
As he approached, Meriday realized how big the dogs really were. How terribly strong their enormous white teeth looked. He wanted to kick them, stab their eyes, and pull at their awful, wagging tails. Yet all he could do was stand a short distance from the bloody spectacle and watch, paralyzed, as the dogs struck the girl’s once beautiful face and disfigured her.
The Master and his helpers came running from the farmhouse with rifles in their hands and executed the vicious dogs with four loud bangs. The animals yelped through their horrible growls and then there was the most brutal silence that had ever settled on the farm.
Then, through the shock and excruciating pain, the girl called out for her father. She sat in the puddle of her own blood mixing with that of the dogs that had assaulted her, and screamed aimlessly into the heavy air.
“And he just stood there! He didn’t do anything!”
The Master’s helpers picked the girl up and carried her inside the farmhouse. The Master himself remained and turned his attention to Meriday, who still stood as if made out of stone.
The Master wanted something to burn, wanted everything to burn in his terrible rage. He hated the world for what had happened to his beautiful daughter, for the pain he had felt through her suffering, and he feared that he would never get her screams to leave his nightmares.
Meriday had to burn. Meriday would burn. His crime?
He hadn’t sacrificed his meaningless black body to save the Master’s daughter.
The following afternoon the Master’s helpers beat Meriday and dragged him away from the farm.
They carried him along the dusty road that extended from the farm all the way to the woods and edged the many fields where other slaves were working. The black men and women tried their hardest not to look as the crippled Meriday passed them by.
Before they reached the woods the men took a left turn and dragged the barely conscious Meriday behind them.
The men shuddered as they saw the field that was their destination. Yet they could not disobey the Master who sat on his horse, waiting in the middle of the field, kept company by a bottle of kerosene and the terrible oak that loomed over them.
They dragged Meriday across the field until they reached the oak and threw him against the powerful tree.
With long ropes they tied the helpless slave against the oak and stepped back, clearing the way for the Master that had the final honors.
The Master got off his horse and took the bottle of kerosene as he walked toward Meriday. Without a word he opened the bottle and poured it down over the slave’s head. Its terrible stink mixed with Meriday’s blood, sweat, and tears to leave a vile and bitter aroma.
The Master took a few steps back and pulled a box of matches from his pocket. With a swift movement he lit one and tossed it in Meriday’s direction.
The barely conscious Meriday was reawakened by the terrible sensation running over his body as the fire took hold. It ate away at his skin and forced the most horrible screams from his charring mouth.
The pain drove him toward a final insanity no man could ever come back from and burned itself into his skull. He could smell his own flesh roasting, his muscles dying, his blood boiling in the heat of the punishing flames. When he tried to close his eyes he found that his eyelids had already burned off.
This was hell. He had arrived and he would never be allowed to leave.
Then a gentle wind blew across the field and entered Meriday’s mind. It took the pain from him and pushed it back, all the way back in his mind, where it was bearable.
The oak whispered to him about the truth of nature. About the origins of the stars and the moon. It was all a chaotic dance that could only ever end in destruction, and his screaming was the most beautiful song the oak had ever heard. Would he not abandon his pain and offer himself to the oak that could allow him to forget?
Meriday said that he would, and he meant it. The oak was so beautiful and so kind; its whispers felt so very true. Meriday knew that the tree would save him and protect him from all the cruelty designed in man’s name.
The oak took the flames running across Meriday’s body and burned in his place. Its bark that had once been pure and powerful blackened and the leaves that were its crown turned to ashes.
In return, the life force that fed the mighty oak claimed Meriday’s soul for itself and allowed him to die a quick and meaningless death. His screams would sound no more and his pained madness would not ever linger beyond those few short moments before his demise.
The Master and his helpers left Meriday’s charred body tied to the blackened oak that would surely die. The animals could have whatever was left of the slave’s useless remains.
None of the men ever spoke of the terrible fact that the oak had been completely restored the next time they passed by the field, not two days later. Meriday’s body was nowhere to be seen.
DAY 2
October 25, 2019 – Part 1
1
The morning coffee at Sparky’s Diner was fresh and, contrary to Agent Bradford’s meager expectations, delicious.
He sat in the corner of the diner near one of the windows, reading Jane’s report on his phone as he waited for his eggs and bacon. He could hear Becky complain in the back of his head about fat and cholesterol and all the other shit she read in her garbage magazines. Luckily his wife wasn’t here to bother him with whatever was trending in her tabloid-riddled mind. Agent Bradford would enjoy his eggs, and his bacon, because life was too short to listen to the shrill tone of his wife’s nagging.
Jane had emailed her report late last night after he’d already gone to bed. Reading it now he realized that what he’d feared would happen had happened. Not even a day in Brettville and she was already moving things around that she had no business moving around. Sending patients off to Bryce? She didn’t have the authority to do that.
When his breakfast arrived he put down his phone. Agent Bradford decided that he would head over to the hospital later to see if the patients had already been moved. Maybe he could still stop the transfers from happening.
Agent Bradford attacked his breakfast with short and jerky movements. The annoyance running through his body forced whatever taste the food might have to the distant background of his busy mind.
She always did this. With her dark gaze. Did things he didn’t understand. With her constant smile. He could never predict exactly what she would do. With her golden hair. But it always undermined him and the office he was working for in one way or another, as if the girl took some kind of twisted pleasure in their bureaucratic power struggle.
Couldn’t she just fucking fall in line with her creepy smile and dark gaze that chilled him to the bone
?!
Agent Bradford threw the fork down on his half-empty plate and stared out the window. It was a terrible thing, he told himself as he checked his pulse, the power they gave to women.
He mused on the mistakes other men had made. To deny the essence of women as shortsighted, frail, and irresponsible did society a disservice. Women, too, he thought, suffered from the new age of empowerment. They couldn’t possibly be happy with the pressure meant for a man’s shoulders weighing down on them.
Jane Elring, in particular, had been given power that she barely knew how to use. And she certainly wasn’t prepared to handle the responsibilities that came with it, let alone even capable of doing so.
If only she understood that she was a tool for them to use. If only she could accept her part to play. But she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, and Agent Bradford realized his office had lost control over her a long time ago. Now the only thing left for him to do was to keep everything in check and minimize the damage she did as much as he could.
The door to Sparky’s Diner opened and Jane came walking in, her bodyguard slightly behind her. She threw Sparky one of her biggest smiles and greeted the waitress she remembered from the day before.
Instinctively Agent Bradford’s hand went into his right pocket and clenched the little box that was never far from his side. He collected his thoughts and told himself that he could always push the button. He always had the button.
Agent Bradford took his thoughts and plans and pushed them back as far as he could. Hid them where his anxiety and insecurities could not reach them. Could not force them back up to the foreground of his mind. His resentments, his idea to check on the patients in the hospital, he wanted them hidden from the girl’s dark, demanding gaze.
What could he do to distract himself?
Agent Bradford took his phone and started scrolling through the messages he received. Most were work-related; one was from Dr. Greer and he flagged it as important. A few pictures his wife had sent him a couple of days ago.
The pictures then, he decided.
The first picture was of his son. The twelve-year-old was sitting on the couch with one of his computer-game things in his hands. Agent Bradford recognized the boy’s dark hair as his own, but the scrawny shoulders and pale skin weren’t quite his. He worried that the boy would never turn into a man while playing all those games he was interested in.
The second picture was of his daughter giving the photographer a tired and annoyed look. She was very much her mother with her green eyes and fiery red hair. But the girl had a temper and she would talk back, something Agent Bradford blamed the changing times for. If he had ever talked to his father like that…. Maybe he was going too easy on her. Maybe she needed more from him. Agent Bradford knew that he could be stricter with her if he had to. Could still discipline her if that was what she needed from him.
Picture three came with a caption. For your eyes only. His wife lay on their bed with her breasts exposed for him to see. Long strands of her red hair ran down her neck and nestled on her chest, reaching as far as her hardened nipples.
This was the picture he needed and Agent Bradford allowed his mind to wander off. It went to Becky’s sweet smell and the warmth of her body on his. Her soft fingers that could still send shivers down his spine and her wet, generous lips. Lips that would kiss him, and tease him, and get him off if he was too tired to fuck.
“Is your breakfast no good?”
Agent Bradford turned off his phone and looked up at the waitress standing next to his table.
“Is there something wrong with the food?” the waitress asked as she pointed at his plate.
He looked at his half-eaten breakfast that had gotten cold by now and said, “No. It was good. I’m just not very hungry, I’m afraid.”
She gave him an understanding smile.
“Just get me the check. please.”
“Sure can do. I’ll be right back!”
Agent Bradford looked around the diner to see where Jane had gone. He found her sitting some tables away with her back toward him. Didn’t she know he was here? Had she not seen him?
The waitress brought him the bill and he paid her, plus a small tip. Then he got up from his chair and tried to sneak around the girl that still had her back toward him. If he could avoid her, he would very much like to.
“Good morning, Agent Bradford.”
“Good morning, Jane,” he said with as polite a tone as he could muster.
Trying to look calm, Agent Bradford walked over to the door of the diner. He didn’t look back as he walked outside.
Once the fresh air filled his lungs and the door closed behind him, he kicked himself. He had allowed himself to believe that he could pull one over on her. That he had some kind of control over all of this.
Agent Bradford reminded himself of the basic rule he had come up with years ago. The girl knew everything. She always knew everything.
Again his right hand clenched the little box inside his pocket. But he always had the button.
2
Caleb followed his client through the small-town hospital. The antiseptic scent lingering through the tight hallways brought back unpleasant memories. It was at once both the cleanest and most toxic aroma ever to grace his nose.
Whose idea had it been to paint the walls such a nauseating green? The color made the already cramped hallways feel even more crowded.
He noticed that Jane’s footsteps were remarkably clumsy, as if she could lose her balance at any time. Her usual slow and deliberate movements had, on the whole, been supplanted by an almost frantic demeanor.
Jane dodged personnel left and right, trying her hardest not to lose pace. She was in a hurry and Caleb traced her diligently, preparing for the conflict that she was heading into. He thought that this might be the first time she would need him.
Halfway through their journey Jane turned toward him. “Walk in front of me. Do you remember Dr. Stewart’s office?”
Caleb nodded and did as she instructed. His client’s reasons were perfectly clear to him. The nurses and doctors would not move out of the small woman’s way, but they would certainly try to avoid the big black man with thunder roaring in his eyes. If they didn’t, Caleb had no problem shoving them aside.
It didn’t come to that. His menacing appearance was enough to prevent any incidents and they quickly made their way through the cramped hospital.
Caleb had studied Jane ever since they arrived and made a pretty good estimate of what she was capable of physically. He adjusted his own pace to the maximum he thought she could handle and looked over his shoulder from time to time, checking if she could keep up.
“This is perfect, Caleb,” she reassured him after she caught him looking for the second time.
It didn’t take long for them to move through the small hospital and soon Dr. Stewart’s office came into Caleb’s view. He stepped aside and watched as Jane dashed toward the door. She didn’t bother knocking.
Caleb watched as she opened the door and walked inside. He upped his pace so it didn’t take long for him to be in the office with her.
Dr. Stewart’s office was small and cramped in an almost perfect reflection of the hospital’s essence. What little natural light there was came from a small window to the left of the room where the sun would shine through for a few hours in the late afternoon. His desk was small and cluttered, with a seemingly infinite amount of papers piled up in a strange kind of organized chaos.
At that desk sat Dr. Stewart in his cheap office chair, looking up at Jane’s rude interruption. The man that sat across from the doctor looked no friendlier. Of course, Agent Bradford never looked kindly upon Jane’s presence.
Jane looked at the special agent as she said, “Please tell me you’re not really doing this.”
“As I already explained to the good doctor here, these patients are part of a federal investigation. You did not have the authority to move them around.”
Dr. Stewart sighed, as if the convers
ation with Agent Bradford had left him drained. “As I tried to explain already, these people need care we can’t provide. I stand completely behind Miss Elring’s suggestion to move them.”
Jane asked, “You haven’t moved any of them yet?”
“We moved two of them yesterday. Only Ethan Walker is still here, currently.”
Caleb observed his client throughout the conversation. Her shoulders were small but sharp, and they stood strongly in the face of this uncomfortable meeting. Her dark eyes were desperate however, and her voice carried an almost begging undertone.
Jane said, “Agent Bradford. Please, you must allow Ethan Walker to leave the hospital. There…. There is a radius to this thing, I think, and if you just—”
The special agent interrupted her. “I don’t care. We are done investigating these patients when I say we’re done investigating them. You do not have the authority.”
Authority. Caleb knew that word and what it really meant in the world of men like Agent Bradford. Authority was power without responsibility. It was about who had the biggest dick and could swing it around the room, knocking over the most shit. It was the word that cowards and bureaucrats used whenever they found themselves in a situation they couldn’t understand or control.
Caleb wondered if that was what Jane Elring represented to the special agent. Was that the root of their awkward silences and glances that always moved sideways from one another? Was it simply his fear?
Fear could turn into hatred, Caleb knew. It could taint a relationship so horribly that it became capable of destroying whatever came near it.
Jane wrung her hands together in utter frustration as she said, “Agent Bradford. If Ethan Walker stays, he dies.”
The special agent answered, “That’s your opinion. And you haven’t offered a single fact to back it up.”
The young woman sighed her deepest sigh as desperation got the better of her. “You’re killing him. Understand this, Agent Bradford, you’re killing Ethan Walker.”