A New Kind of Zeal

by Michelle Warren

CHAPTER EIGHT: An Empty House

  Selena lay on her bed. Her long black curls were thrown erratically across the pillow – her white blouse was dishevelled.

  Her room was a mess. School books were falling off her desk. Maths was boring, music was a tedious farce: English felt like primary school kids playing with words. The teachers gave her assignments: she swept them aside and looked for something more stimulating.

  Real music: that was the thing. Words of real life: the meaninglessness, the rage. She listened, through her earphones, to the heavy beat, in unison with her heart: searing tones of pain – talk of death.

  Her father was gone: off to another pathetic church meeting. What was it with the robes, and the four hundred year old music? Why did he keep dragging her back there? She hated it: talk of the body and the blood. She hated the faces: drugged with the ‘Spirit,’ or, even worse, showing nothing at all.

  She stared up at the ceiling. So many hours she had spent there, just staring: like a prisoner in her own home. Where was he? She didn’t care. Working here, working there: working everywhere. He brought home food – he paid someone to cook, and clean. What else was there? Apparently nothing. Apparently no one.

  Her mother had gone. Selena had spent many years imagining that she was still there with her, in her room: imagining what she would have said. But once she had turned twelve, she had run out of inspiration. Her mother was dead. And Selena had never experienced her as a teenager: she simply had no idea what to say to herself anymore.

  Grief was a numb companion. And then there was nothing at all: nothing but anger, and this toward him. A perpetual, escalating anger, growing year after year after year.

  The anger now was her closest ally.

  She stared at the ceiling – and then, suddenly, felt seized.

  Go.

  Go?

  Now’s your chance.

  Excitement filled her, as refreshing as it was new. Could she leave? She could! She could use this imprisonment: she could turn it to her own favour!

  Quickly she thrust herself off her bed, down the hallway, and into the kitchen and lounge. Where was her father’s wallet? On him, of course. But where would he stash other cash? She searched, and went downstairs: she found his study, the bookcase, and found some cash hidden inside a book. A hundred bucks! That should be enough, to get her off this hill, into town. Alex would meet her! Alex would get her out of this hole.

  Selena grabbed a key and her sandals, tugged her skirt down, and set out through the back door.

  It was quite a walk, down the hill, to catch a train to Wellington Central. Excitement pressed her forward quickly, and she reached into her pocket for her phone. The network was down: again! Crazy! But surely soon it would come back on, and she’d get through to Alex.

  Eyes were on her as she walked – she ignored them. A brisk breeze embraced her, lifting her black curls – she drew in a deep breath, invigorated.

  Half way down the hill, there was a gathering crowd. Surprised, Selena looked around. The police were there! Something had happened…

  “What do you mean the petrol ran out?” a man cried out: short, and stumpy. “You’re on a hill, idiot! Don’t you know how to use the brakes?”

  Selena saw: a red car had smashed into a wooden fence.

  “It slid!” another man shouted: tall, and muscular. “The gas ran out, the thing spluttered, and before I knew it I was sliding backwards…”

  “Train not good enough for you, like the rest of us?”

  “Don’t blame me if you can’t get a decent job!”

  “Arrogant prick…”

  The solidly built driver was almost throwing fists – but then the police officer, dressed in blue, stepped in. His face looked tired – his forehead was creasing into a frown.

  “That’s enough,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah?” the driver said. “Who says?”

  “I do,” the policeman said. “I’m Constable Stevens, and I’m putting you under arrest.” He waved a badge in their direction.

  “I don’t think so!” The driver said. “From what I hear, there’s no money left to imprison all the criminals.”

  The officer grimaced. “That’s not your problem.”

  “You bet it’s not!” the driver said. “This joker’s my problem!” And he gestured to the property owner.

  Now Sevens stepped to his bike, and pulled out his baton and handcuffs.

  “Just get onto the bike.”

  The driver smirked at him. “What’s the matter: no money for a car?”

  “I don’t have time for this!” Stevens said. “Get onto the bike now! I’ll take you to the station, and then I need to move onto the next call.”

  The driver looked at him, at the baton, and at the bike. A strange expression came over his face. Then he put his hands out to be cuffed.

  “Sure,” he said.

  Selena frowned. She glanced down the hill – could she quickly pass? Get away from the commotion? She shifted between her feet, uncertain, while Stevens cuffed the driver’s hands, and escorted him to the back of the bike.

  Stevens sat on the front of the bike. Selena waited for him, watching while he fired up the bike, reversed, and shifted the bike into gear to move forward – but then, suddenly, something changed. Selena felt it, before she saw it: the car-driver! From behind, he was thrusting his cuffed hands over Stevens’ head, dragging the chain tight around his neck.

  Selena gasped. The driver – he was smirking, foolish man! Stirring trouble, but not trying to murder! Yet he jerked Stevens back, by the neck. The bike swerved, and fell on its side.

  When Stevens rose, rage filled his eyes.

  Selena swallowed. “Take it easy,” she whispered. “Don’t do anything rash.”

  The driver was still on the ground, trapped a little under the bike. Stevens grabbed his baton, lifted the bike away from the driver, and now he began to beat him.

  Shocked, Selena stared at him. He was the police! Charged to protect the public! Selena glanced at the fence owner, but he also was staring, and now was backing rapidly away.

  The driver was unconscious! His head was bleeding. Stevens was still beating him!

  “Stop it!” Selena screamed. “You’ll kill him!”

  Stevens stopped. As if stunned himself, he stared down at the man lying still beneath the bike. He fingered his own throat, and stared at his baton. Then he looked at her.

  Terror filled Selena. What was he going to do? Desperately she fumbled at her cell-phone – but who would she call? The police? An ambulance? There was no network! There was nothing…

  She longed to run, and glanced quickly up the hill. Should she go back? Should she run back to Dad? To home? Conflict tore her heart: was that really her home? Was her father really safety?

  The officer was approaching her. She saw regret in his eyes! She saw an apology trying to form on his lips. But it was too late. Her arms were wrapping around herself; her body was starting to shake uncontrollably.

  “Mum…” she sobbed. “What the hell is happening? Mum…”

  And now she ran, down the hill, on and on and on.

  A train was waiting, at the station below. Selena couldn’t think about where it was going: only thrust herself on board – only had to leave where she was. A lady appeared asking for a ticket – Selena gave her the one hundred dollar note.

  On the train, she stared out of the window. It was all a blur. She didn’t know where she was going. Her body felt numb. Her heart felt numb. She randomly jabbed at her cell-phone.

  The train arrived: at Central Wellington Station. The lady was in front of her, telling her to get off. She obeyed.

  On the platform, Alex stood waiting for her. Selena saw him: she almost collapsed. His arm came around her shoulders.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered.

  “How did you…?”

  “You called me.”

  “I…” She started to sob: couldn’t control herself.

  He graspe
d her hand – and led her after him.

  “Where are we going…?”

  “Somewhere where you’ll be safe.”

  “Is anywhere safe anymore?”

  “Yeah – some things can make us strong.”

  He had taken her out of the train station. Now he led her down one street, through another, and down another. Selena felt she was constantly about to fall, but he dragged her on and on – until suddenly they were standing before a door.

  Selena stared up at it. It had strange symbols above it: somehow familiar feeling symbols.

  “I don’t know,” Selena whispered. “I don’t like this place.”

  “Rather go to church?”

  Selena shuddered. Church? No. Her father…But this place?

  “Where do you want me to take you, Selena?” Alex asked. “To a pub? Give you alcohol? Speed? Addiction is weakness. This is the real strength.”

  Selena stared at him. She stared at the door.

  “What is this place?”

  “You know what this is.”

  You know.

  “What do I know?”

  Alex shook his head, and then gestured around them. “You know it all, Selena: you’re a smart girl. Politics is impotent. The police are the real criminals. Education is control. And, worst of all, religion is lies.”

  “God…” Selena whispered. “God…”

  “There is only one god,” he said – and he pointed to the symbol.

  Cold chills seized her body. She knew what this was, and it was not God. But who was God? Who was he, but an absent, indifferent, neglectful father? What did he know? What did he care?

  “Who will be your god?” Alex asked: and, drawing in a deep breath, legs wobbling, she reached out, and thrust herself through the door.