by john | Jul 9, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
As we headed out onto Broadway the streets were starting to fill. It was about 10 o’clock, and all the bars had their acts going. We meandered through the throngs of humanity until we got almost all the way back to the car. I had just started to think that we had made it through one whole city without anything stupid happening when Emily’s cell phone rang. She looked down at it, gave a puzzled look, and answered it.
“Yeah, mom? What’s up? Oh no.” I might only be able to hear one side of the conversation but it didn’t sound like I was going to like the outcome. “Alright, we’re almost at the car, we’ll be there as quick as we can. What? Yeah. We found him. What? What about my tone? Nothing, alright. Geez, we’ll be there in a few minutes.” She blushed a little as she hung up the phone and looked at it like it knew something it had no right to know.
“What’s up?” I asked. Em snapped back to the present and looked up at me.
“Oh. Um, well, we need to go.” She said.
“We’re on our way. Is there someplace in particular other than the hotel that we need to go to? And is there something that I should probably know about that you’re trying not to tell me?
“Well, it seems like there’s a bit of trouble at a biker bar just out of town.”
“Really? And who exactly is involved in this trouble, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Eve. And Cain. And by extension, I guess, my Mom.” The first two surprised me not at all, and the third didn’t really surprise me, but the quickening of my pulse when she said Myra was in trouble was a bit of a surprise.
“Well, let’s get a move on. And why don’t you try a little explaining as we roll.” We got into the car and she gave me the address. I punched it into Myra’s GPS and saw that it would take us about fifteen minutes to get there.
“Well, nothing’s happened yet. Exactly. But Mom seems to think there’s a good chance that a big fight is about to break out, and that Eve and Cain might be in the middle of it.”
“In the middle of it or the cause of it?” I asked.
“She didn’t say, but I guess we could figure, based on past experience, that it’s probably the latter.”
“Excuse me?” Sidney piped up from the back seat where he and Michael had been listening.
“Yeah, Sid. What is it?” I asked.
“Um, Sidney. Please. I really don’t like to be called Sid.” He replied.
“Build a bridge.” I told him.
“Excuse me?”
“Build a bridge. It’s what we use to get over it. Now what do you want?”
“Um, did you say Cain? As in…” he trailed off. I think he was really starting to get an idea of exactly what was going on.
“Yeah, Cain. As in my second son. As in the founder of fratricide. As in really, really old and oughta know better than to get into bar fights with rednecks when you’re hopelessly outnumbered and there are people around who aren’t immortal. But his mother is a bad influence sometimes, so it’s not all his fault.”
“Um, his mother?” The kid was starting to look a little green. I couldn’t tell if he was getting carsick after drinking or if the enormity of the situation was just now sinking in. I guess it’s all well and good to sit in a bar and talk to a guy who says he’s Adam, but when you start throwing the rest of the Fig Leaf Brigade into the mix it can be a little much for most normal folks. Even normal folks with faces like pincushions and arms that looked like comic books.
“Yeah. His mother. Remember Eve, the weak one who took the apple? She’s not such the wilting flower as your little novel there makes her out to be, and she has a bad habit of starting fights in bars.”
“Now in her defense, Dad, she didn’t start the thing in New Orleans.” Emily chimed in.
“Okay, I’ll give you that one. But still, she has a history of starting fights that goes all the way back to Troy.”
“Troy?”
“Yeah, you remember Troy, right? Paris, Menelaus, big horse? Ring any bells?” I said.
“Yeah, but what does that have to do with Eve?” Emily still looked confused.
“There wasn’t a Helen. Eve was Helen. She was married to Menelaus, got bored, and ran off with Paris. Menelaus got pissed, called his brother Agamemnon and they besieged Troy for a decade or so. Eventually that whole thing with the horse happened and Troy was pretty well screwed. By that time Eve was wandering around Egypt hanging with one of the Ramseses, I forget which one.” I explained.
“Oh.” Emily was quiet for a few minutes, but then piped up with “There’s her truck.” Sure enough, that shitty old Ford was parked in front of what had to be the seediest looking bar within a hundred miles. Eve really knew how to pick ‘em. There were about two dozen bikes out front, mostly Harleys with the occasional Triumph or Indian mixed in. No BMWs or Ducatis here, and definitely no crotch-rockets. These were big, growling machines that were made to eat up the road and announce their coming from a mile or more away. There were a couple of muscle cars parked here and there, and a good dozen trucks with rifles in the gun racks scattered around the parking lot. Depending on how many people Eve had managed to piss off, this could be challenging.
by john | Jul 8, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
“So, what do I do?” He asked after he downed a shot of firewater to fortify himself. “Do I have to fight a horde of unbelievers? Do I have to martyr myself for my beliefs? Do I have to sacrifice my eldest son, because I don’t have any kids, but I could have some if I need to.” I reached across the table and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Okay, kid, calm down. We’re not fighting any hordes, at least I hope not. And nobody’s martyring anybody or sacrificing anybody for any beliefs. At least not that we know of. Let’s just take a step back and recap. How much do you know about what got me and Eve kicked out of the Garden?”
“Well, I know that Eve was tempted by the serpent that was Satan, and that she was weak, and succumbed to the temptation of the serpent, and that because of the weakness of Eve all mankind has suffered…what’s so funny?” Even Michael was having a hard time stifling his laughter, and Michael didn’t really have a sense of humor. I was laughing too hard, so I just motioned for Emily to explain it to the kid.
“You see, it wasn’t quite like that, and since we all know Eve, hearing her described as weak was just, well, it’s pretty funny.” Em started.
“Yeah, and you don’t want to let her hear that version of events. Because she’s packing.” I finished.
“Well, that’s what happened! It says so right here in the…” After a second the kid realized that since he was sitting with what historians refer to as source material, he might want to think a bit before he told me what had happened. “This is going to take some getting used to.” He finished lamely.
“Yeah, it’s like that at first. Just imagine how fucked up it is to find out he’s your dad.” I know Em was trying to commiserate, but I wasn’t sure I liked the method.
“Okay, so it was like this. Eve made a Choice to take the fruit and bring it to me. And all through history there have been choices. Some have been big, deciding to invade Poland, like writing the Magna Charta, like pulling the sword out of the stone. And some choices have been small, like deciding to put the top down on the limo in Dallas, like picking the right horse for Paul Revere to ride, like deciding to go see a play at Ford’s Theatre. Those are small choices, with big consequences. But every once in a while there comes along a capital “c” Choice. The kind of choice that you know will alter the course of humanity for a long time to come. That’s the kind of Choice we’re talking about. Like when Eve took the fruit from Lucky,”
“Lucky?”
“Just go with it. Like taking the fruit from Lucky, Like Abel letting Cain kill him, like the Carpenter going with the soldiers in the garden at Gethsemane. Those Choices that you know when you’re making them will impact people for a long, long time after you make it. That’s what we’re coming up on right now, another Choice. The first one in probably a few hundred years, if not longer. And you’re the guy.”
“What do you mean, I’m the guy? What guy?” His voice had gotten a little high-pitched and thready, so I knew he understood what I meant. I decided that this would be a stupid time to start sugar-coating anything, so I just went right back to the sledgehammer.
“You’re the one who has to Choose.”
“What am I Choosing?” His eyes had gotten big, and he looked a little like a rabbit staring at a .22 rifle.
“We don’t know yet, we just know you’re the one who has to Choose. And the rest of the world will have to live with your Choice.”
“Sidney,” Michael moved in to try and soothe the frightened kid. “We know this is a lot to take in all at once, but you are very important to us, and to the world. We need you, Sidney. Will you come with us? Will you make the Choice?” There was weight in the angel’s words, and I could tell by the look on the kid’s face that he knew that if he said yes, he was committing to something a lot bigger than standing on a street corner singing psalms and trying to teach the Lord’s Prayer to a couple of drunks.
He sat there for a long moment, and I was glad to see he was taking some time with the idea. Taking on the fate of the world isn’t something that should be done lightly, even if you’re a little drunk. After a couple of minutes he sat up, finished off his beer, and looked me in the eye. “I’m in. Whatever it is my Lord has planned for me I will do to the best of my ability. I will serve Him however He requires.”
Yup, true believers are a pain in the ass.
I waved the waitress over for the check and Em went to the bathroom while I settled up. We figured we’d head back to the motel for the night and head out in the morning. Michael hadn’t yet deigned to share with us our next destination, telling me “all things in time” in that tone that made me want to punch him in the face again. But I restrained myself in light of our new addition and his potentially sensitive views on violence. And I didn’t want the angel bleeding all over the back seat of Myra’s Civic.
by john | Jul 7, 2009 | Comics, Vampires
Obviously I haven’t abandoned Choices, but this might be the beginnings of something else entirely. Let me know what you think. I’ve never written for the graphic novel genre before, but you know, there really is a first time for everything. If any artist-types out there wanted to do up a sample page or two and chat about collaboration, that would be kinda cool…
UNTITLED VAMPIRE THING
P. 1 Four panels. Top left. Black frame. Text box – Being a vampire sucks.
Top right. Exterior of a crypt. Text box – That wasn’t a pun, puns suck more.
Bottom right. Rear view – thin figure standing on top of crypt, long cape swirling around, classic vampire look. Text box – I’ve been a vampire for 20 years now, so I should know.
Bottom left. Rear over shoulder view of figure – looking at lone cute 20-something girl walking through cemetery. Text box – You think it’s gonna be neat, flying, sucking blood, turning into bats…
P.2 – Full Page – Front view of geeky kid in a long poncho (what looked like a cape from the rear. He’s a skinny kid, kinda like a love child of Wesley Crusher and Anthony Michael Hall from sixteen candles, with Buddy Holly’s glasses. He’s obviously cold, wet and uncomfortable, and obviously in lust with the girl. You can probably see a little fang.
Text box – but when you’re a sixteen-year old vampire, and stuck at sixteen forever, it just sucks.
P.3 – Five panels – Two on top, one page-width panel in center, then two on bottom.
Panel 1 shows same kid clumping down stairs, maybe just show a pair of Converse Chucks squelching down stone steps. There should be an extension cord running along the steps.
Panel 2 shows an arm hanging the poncho up on a coat rack. Voice from out of panel says “Dude, you better get a towel. I do NOT want to bust my ass going up the stairs for dinner tonight.”
Panel 3 is wide center panel, it opens up into the crypt interior, which is outfitted with a ratty sofa, two coffins in a corner, a fridge in another corner, several floor lamps and a big TV. There’s another kid about the same age and relative geek level sitting on the sofa playing a video game on the TV. Maybe he’s a fat kid or a different variety of geek in some way. He says “Come check this out, I’m about to beat Ganon!”
Panel 4 shows kid sitting down on couch, looking less than impressed. “Dude, you’ve been playing that game since we were in ninth grade. And alive. Haven’t you defeated Ganon yet?”
Panel 5 looks over sofa as kid loses game and yells “DAMMIT!” Text box – This is my friend Wilson. Wilson Floyd Johnson, Jr. You think middle school was fun for him? Oh yeah, he’s dead too.”
by john | Jul 4, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
So I’ve finished the first draft of the whole thing, and now all I have to do is upload it to you, my faithful readers. All three of ya :). Enjoy, and thanks for reading!
“Alright kid, let’s start with the basics. What’s your name?” I said.
“Sidney. Sidney Joseph McEwen.”
“Alright, Sid,”
“Sidney. I don’t answer to Sid.” This kid was really going to irritate me. I could tell.
“Sidney, then. Sidney, how much do you know about the book of Genesis?” I figured that I may as well uncork the heavy stuff right off the bat.
“The book of Genesis is where we learn the origins of man, his dominion over women and all the beasts of the field, and…”
“Wait a minute, kid. Where did you get that stuff about dominion over women?” I interrupted.
“It’s clearly stated in Genesis that Eve was given unto Adam to be his mate and his servant, as were all the beasts of the kingdom.” Wow. Junior was gonna have some issues when he met Eve.
“Ok. Let’s start right there. Nobody ever gave anybody dominion over anybody else, and Eve was never anybody’s servant, I promise.” Emily had started to look pretty grumpy about the whole “servant” thing, but she settled back into the booth as I corrected the kid’s misconceptions.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to disrespect my elders, but are you really qualified to question the written Word of God the Father? I have dedicated my life to the study of the Bible, and I daresay I know the Book a little better than the average man on the street.” Okay, he’d brought out the smug. It as time to play a little rough.
I reached forward and grabbed his lip ring and pulled him close enough to feel my breath on his nose. “Listen, pincushion. A couple of points here. One: nobody under the age of fifty uses the word ‘daresay,’ especially not in a bar in Tennessee. Two: if you’re going to measure peckers, you’d better make sure you’re not whipping it out next to John Holmes. I’m not the average man on the street, and while I haven’t really dedicated much of my life to studying the Book, I’ve got more than a passing familiarity with the book of Genesis. Mostly because I. Was. Fucking. There.” I gave his ring a twist with each of the last few words for emphasis. When I let go of his mouth he bounced back to the booth and looked to Michael like he wanted to bolt, but the angel just smiled at him.
“I think you should listen to Adam, Sidney.” Michael finished his second beer and waved the waitress over. He motioned for another round, and Sid took the high road and polished off his drink.
“So. Let’s work from a point of common agreement: you don’t know shit about the book of Genesis, and probably not much more about the rest of that book you’ve been thumping on. So I’ll start at the beginning, or at least as much of it as I remember. A long time ago, there was a guy alone in a Garden. It was a nice garden, if a little boring with no one to talk to. Then one day, this chick appeared, and things got a lot more interesting. After a while with just the guy and the chick, the normal things happened and there were some more people. Then there was a snake, an apple, a really bad afternoon, a couple of brothers, a big rock, another really bad afternoon, and then the rest of the world happened. You with me so far?” The kid just sat there, looking at me like I was going to bite him, which I supposed was probably fair. I had meant to scare him a little, and maybe I got a bit out of hand. But he annoyed me, okay?
“Adam, let me try.” Michael began, but Emily jumped in before either of us could say another word.
“Sid, here’s the deal. This guy is Adam. That Adam. The whole Adam and Eve thing? He’s half of that dynamic duo. The blond guy next to you with the rapidly fading British accent? He’s the Archangel Michael, although he’s tucked away the flaming sword for the time being. We’re tying to save the world, and Michael says that you’re going to be very important to that. So are you in?” She certainly did have a way of cutting through all the bullshit.
“Um, if he’s…and he’s…” the kid pointed to me and Michael in turn “then…who…what are you?” He looked almost afraid of Emily’s answer.
“I’m his daughter, but otherwise I’m just a waitress from Texas who has been known to consort with the wrong crowd.” She pointed at me and took a swig of her beer. “And seriously, Dad, PBR? I’m sure they have import beers, even in this redneck shithole.”
“Just keepin’ it real, baby girl. Just keepin’ it real.” I watched the kid for trouble signs, but he just sat there, processing.
After a minute, the kid reached out, drained his beer, and waved the waitress over. When she got to the booth, he said “Four Gentleman Jack, two ice cubes. And another round of PBRs.” All of a sudden, the kid was a trained professional. He might be okay, after all. When she brought the drinks back, he slid a highball glass in front of each of us and raised his in a salute. “To saving the world” he said as he tossed back his drink and chased it with a beer.
by john | Jul 2, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
We’re getting close. I’m at 55,000 words and I think we’re getting close to the final confrontations. Should be done in another 10,000 words or so. So if I can stay on pace, that would be next week sometime. But then it’ll be another week or so of uploading.
I found a parking deck just off Broadway, because I figured if a street preacher was worth his salt, he’d hang out at one of the dens of iniquities that made up the redneck street of dreams. There were enough sins committed against the memories of mamas, pickup trucks, dogs and trains in a three-block stretch of downtown Nashville to make Lucky blush, so I figured it was just a matter of time before we found our guy.
Sometimes I take being right to a whole new level. We’d walked a couple of blocks when a body came flying out of a bar almost directly on top of us. A kid landed flat on his ass up against a newspaper box while a couple of neckless bouncers glared at us like they needed a little more ass to kick while another guy came out from inside the club and threw a Bible at the kid’s head. Michael leaned down and caught The Book before it could hit the ground, and handed it to the kid.
“Thanks. This was my dad’s. I’d hate for anything to happen to it. I guess they don’t really mean it when they call it an open mike night.” He just lay there on the sidewalk, leaning his head on the newspaper box like it was something that happened every night. Hell, for all I knew, it did happen every night.
“Why? What happened?” Emily looked all kinds of concerned for the kid, which immediately set of the Daddy warning bells in my head. The kid looked like ten miles of bad road, with a pierced lip and eyebrow, more hardware in his ears than Emily, Eve and Myra combined, a couple of armfuls of tattoos, and a T-shirt that said, in big jagged letters “Jesus Rocks” on the front. He wore jeans that looked like they’d been torn more from getting thrown out of bars than from work, and pair of scuffed Chuck Taylors on his feet. I hated his guts a little, I thought.
“I signed up for a slot on the open mike list, and when my time came, I took the chance to speak the word of the Lord to those gathered. The proprietors took some exception to my version of the open mike performance, and I was asked to leave. When I objected, well, you saw the results.” He sounded a little like Michael. I definitely hated his guts a little. Then I looked over at Emily again, and I saw a little glassy look in her eyes. Shit. She was smitten. Things only got worse when I looked at Michael, who was grinning like a cat with a mouthful of feathers. Shit.
“You gotta be kidding me.” I said to the angel.
“No, Adam. This is who we’re looking for. This young man is the Chosen. I can feel it.” Michael looked like he was about to wet himself. Emily looked like she was head over heels in puppy love, and I’m sure I looked like I’d just swallowed something rotten. I was gonna need a drink or ten to deal with this one.
“Alright, Junior. Get up, come with me and keep your mouth shut.” I reached down for the kid and hauled him to his feet. I put an arm around his shoulders and steered him halfway down the block into another bar. The bouncer gave me a look that said “If I hear one syllable of proselytizing, I’m gonna toss you out on your ass.” Ok, the bouncer probably didn’t actually think the word proselytizing; I might be giving him a little too much credit. Either way, I led Junior to a booth in the back and ordered four PBRs. We sat there in silence until our beers arrived, along with our cohorts.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t allow alcohol to enter the sanctuary of my body.”
“Jesus turned water into wine. Now sit there and drink.” I was not in the mood for this, but it looked like I was going to have a conversation on faith and fact with a true believer. True believers give me gas.
Michael and Emily joined us in the booth, with Emily sitting next to me to better observe the tattooed and pierced messiah-in-training, and grabbed their drinks. Michael made a face at the beer, but after a look from me he wisely refrained from comment. I drained the first PBR in a long pull and motioned for the waitress to bring another round.
“Sir, I must insist. The body is a temple and I must honor my almighty Father by keeping it pure.” Junior was starting to wind me up a little, so I leaned forward and made sure I had his undivided attention.
“Look, kid. I’m gonna drink my next beer like I’m on a mission, which I am. Then I’m gonna nurse my third one while Michael and I tell you a little story. And I can pretty much guaran-damn-tee you that you’ll accept what we’ve got to tell you a little better if you’ve had a little booze to grease the mental wheels.” About then my second beer showed up, and I did indeed swallow it down with a certain intensity. I dropped the empty on the waitress’ tray before she had finished unloading the other three, and motioned for her to bring me another. “This time I promise to take my time, hon.” She gave me a little flounce of her cutoff shorts and headed back to the bar.
Junior looked from Michael to me and back again, studiously avoiding meeting Emily’s gaze. I was fine with that. I wasn’t interested in any budding puppy love, especially if he really was important to the “mission” we were on. When my third beer got there, I started talking.
by john | Jul 1, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
When I woke up, Myra was lying next to me. She was awake, just lying down after a shower. Her hair smelled fresh and clean, and reminded me that I could use a quick shower to get rid of the road grime. From time to time over the years I’ve forgotten how nice it is to wake up next to someone. Someone you actually give a shit about, that is. That’s when I realized that Eve was on to something; that I actually had started to care about Myra. I was going to have to deal with that before too long. She had been special to me when we were first together, and the intervening years had only softened the sharp edges of youth. She looked more comfortable in her skin now, and I liked that she wasn’t out to impress anyone. She just lay down next to me on top of the scratchy hotel blanket in a baggy t-shirt and panties, not trying to get all supermodel on me, just comfortable.
Yeah, I was definitely going to have to cut this short before it got in the way of things. If I had a Choice of my own coming up, then I was gonna need to focus. And all signs were pointing towards whatever great Event happening sooner rather than later, so I had better get in the game.
Eventually. But first I kissed the top of Myra’s head, then kissed my way down her forehead to her temple, and along the side of her face as she looked up at me. I paused for moment or two at her ear before moving on to her lips. We kissed rather seriously for minute or two before she pulled back and grinned at me.
“Shower. Shave. Mouthwash. Dinner. In that order. More playtime later.” She kissed the end of my nose and got out of bed, digging through her bag for a fresh pair of jeans. I got out of bed, tossing clothes around the room as I headed for the shower. One of the great things about travel in the modern world is the advent of little hotel soaps and shampoos. I know women still carry seventeen pounds of hair goop and facial scrubs, but all I require nowadays is a razor and an electrical outlet. So I took a quick shower and dutifully scraped off a few days’ worth of stubble, and headed back out into the room to get dressed. I instantly regretted not taking more clothes into the bathroom with me when I was greeted by a chorus of wolf whistles from Myra and Eve, who were sitting on the bed watching TV.
“Hey baby! Shake what you got!” Eve had more than a few years’ experience with what men yelled at strip clubs, so she dredged up the more prurient phrases she’d learned strutting runways from L.A. to Miami in an effort to embarrass me. Once I realized that Emily was nowhere to be seen, I just tossed the towel on the floor. After all, there’s nothing here they both haven’t seen before, right?
“Pick that wet towel up!” Myra shrieked.
“How dare you throw that towel on the carpet?” Eve followed right on her tail. Great. Two of them. I tossed the towel into the bathroom and dug around in my bag for some clean underwear, jeans and my favorite Johnny Cash T-shirt. Hey, if we’re in Nashville, might as well rock the Man in Black, right?
“Underwear, Adam?” Eve smirked a little.
“Hey, we call it progress, sweetheart. We’ve come a long way since fig leaves.” I shot right back. I pulled on my boots and we went downstairs. I was a little worried about what the two of them might have been chatting about while I was in the shower, but I figured I hadn’t left them alone long enough for them to get into any real trouble. I never was that bright.
We walked across the hotel parking lot to an Applebee’s because wherever there’s a critical mass of hotels, there’s an Applebee’s, and the food is harmless, if not terribly interesting. And there’s beer. We grabbed a big round table in the corner and loaded up on bar food and beer. After we eased our appetites, I looked over at Michael and started the party.
“Okay, Michael. Who are we looking for and where do we find him?” I asked.
“Well, I’m not certain of his name, but I will know him when I encounter him. He is a young lay minister who frequents the downtown area.” He said.
“A lay minister? You mean like a street preacher?” Cain asked.
“I believe that is one way that people refer to his ministry, yes. He speaks from The Book to passersby downtown. He is very, how should I put this? Um, he’s very outgoing in his ministry.” Michael continued.
“So he’s an obnoxious street preacher in downtown Nashville, the big gold-plated buckle of the Bible Belt. That’s not gonna be easy to find.” I opined.
“As I mentioned, I will sense that he is the one we are searching for once we are near. For now, I suggest that we depart this fine dining institution and make our way downtown to begin our search for the young man in question.”
“Well, you boys have a goooood time quizzing street preachers. I’m sure that with Mikey’s spidey-sense in full bloom, you don’t need Myra and me to find one Bible-thumper, and we could use a little “girl time,” if you know what I mean.” Eve stood and started for the door, motioning for Myra to follow.
“I don’t know what you mean, and I think we should all stick together.” I said.
“He’s so cute when he tries to play leader, isn’t he?” Eve said. “C’mon honey, we’ll leave Emily with him to make sure he doesn’t get in too much trouble, and we’ll take Cain with us to make sure that we do. I hear there are a couple of bars in this town where they might play a little music. Let’s see if we can find one, and I’ll tell you more stories about Adam from the good old days.” With that, my first wife and my latest lover went off with my eldest son in tow. Cain looked back at me with a helpless look on his face as they headed to the door.
“Don’t get busted, I can’t afford bail for three!” I called out after them. Eve flipped me off as the hostess held the door for them. I paid the tab and Emily, Michael and I headed to the car.
by john | Jun 30, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
I was with them for another forty years, one of the longest stretches I ever spent in one place. There were a few skirmishes around, but nothing touched our remote little fishing shack. And on the off chance that someone did wander by with ill intent, it’s always been very useful to be immortal when people started waving swords about.
Fin died about ten years after I arrived, a very old man for the time. The last couple of years he would go out in the boat with me, but he’d just sit in the stern and tell stories while I hauled in fish. Then for the last few weeks he sat in the house by the fire and told Sorcha stories of her mother, and how much like her she was. I dug the old man’s grave with my own hands, and built his cairn out of stones that Sorcha helped me carry down from the hills.
I wept for the passing of that old man like I hadn’t cried since Abel died, and wasn’t ashamed of a single tear. I let that man and his daughter touch something inside of me that I had walled up when Eve and I split up. I didn’t even know it was still in there; it had been so long since I’d seen it. And then eventually, Sorcha grew old, and she died one night in my arms. We had no children, so I was the only one with her at the end, or at least I thought I was. It was a spring evening, and the first fireflies had just appeared. She had been fading for weeks, and I knew it was coming soon.
“Aidan, love, carry me out to the rock in the front yard. I want to see the fire flies one last time.” She never called me Adam in all the years we were together. I was always Aidan to her. I did as she asked, and lay her down on the grass in front of our cottage. I piled up blankets around her so she would be warm enough and I sat behind her so she could lean on my chest and sit up to look across the hills at the fireflies flickering in the dusk.
“The little people are lovely tonight, aren’t they, Aidan?” Her voice was a papery whisper, and I had to lean close to hear her. Just as I got close enough to almost feel her breath on my earlobe, she reached up behind her head and pulled me down further, kissing me passionately. Sorcha was nothing if not a creature of passion, and no number of years could steal that from her.
I turned her frail body around and kissed her with everything I had. I held her tight, but gently at the same time. She was so thin, but I could feel a passion in her grip and in her kiss that had all but burnt out months before. I don’t know if we kissed for seconds or minutes, but when the kiss was over she leaned back, let out a contented sigh, and died. I laid her down on our yard with fireflies dancing in the spring evening, and I kissed her one last time. I lay there on the grass with her all night, and when the sun came up the next morning, I wasn’t nearly as alone as I was expecting to be.
Eve was sitting on the front steps of the house, watching me. I hadn’t seen her in several hundred years, and like most of our meetings, that one hadn’t ended well. I wasn’t in the mood for a fight, but she just stood up, walked over to me without a word, and put her arms around me. I fell to my knees on the lawn and cried on her shoulder for a little while, and eventually we got up and buried Sorcha next to her father. We never spoke a word that day, and when we were finished, Eve walked back out of my life. Sometimes nothing needs to be said. But now, standing beside an elevator at a Fairfield Inn in East Nashville, Tennessee, Eve had brought all that rushing back to me.
“Why bring that up now?” I was not happy with the comparisons between Myra and Sorcha. I had loved Sorcha like I loved few women in my life, and it still hurt to remember losing her. But I also still smiled a lot when I remembered her, so in a lot of ways it was worth it.
“Believe it or not, Adam, I don’t like to see you hurt.” She said.
“If that’s true, why have you beaten the shit out of me so many times?” I was straining to keep things light, but she wasn’t making anything easy.
“No, asshole, I mean really hurt. The kind that takes a long time to get over, if you ever do. And you’re falling for this woman, and that only hurts you in the long run. I know, I’ve watched it.”
“Yeah, I’ve always meant to ask why you were there that night in Ireland.” I started, but Eve cut me off before I could get going.
“Don’t. You don’t need or want to know why I was there, but you needed me, and I was there. That’s all that matters. Now I can see the look in your eyes with Myra, and I can see how she looks at you, and you’ve got to remember, this isn’t smart. It doesn’t work out for us. Ever.” She was right up in my face by now, speaking low and very intensely. There was a lot going on behind her eyes that she wasn’t saying, and I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to get into in a motel hallway.
“Butt out. I appreciate your concern, and I’m grateful for your help back in Ireland, but this is my deal. I’m a big boy and I can take care of myself.” I turned to head into the waiting elevator, and Eve followed me.
“I know you can take care of yourself, dick.” She muttered, pushing the button for the third floor. I all the rooms were together, so I just leaned as far away from her as I could in the cramped space. “But for once in all these years, please think of something or someone outside your own skin. I don’t even really know what you’ve gotten me into here, but if it’s as big as you claim, then for my own good, and maybe the good of everybody else in the world, we need you to keep your shit together. And that means you can’t go tits-up and tail-waggy over Little Miss Cuppa Joe until this is all over. Let’s just stay focused, save the world, and then you can chase waitress tail for another thousand years for all I care.”
There were so many absurdities in Eve’s monologue that I couldn’t even begin to address them, so I stayed quiet until we got off the elevator and went into our separate rooms. I did toss her a glance across the hall as I opened the door and said “Eve?”
“What?”
“I’ll keep it in mind. Really.”
She didn’t look very mollified, but she obviously knew it was all she was going to get, so she gave me a little smile, shot me the bird, and went into her room. I went into mine, kicked off my boots, and flopped down on the bed for a quick nap before dinner.
by john | Jun 29, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
Somehow I found an excuse to stick around Finlay’s place, and became somewhat less useless as a fisherman, although I was a much better oarsman than I’d ever be an angler. And I found other ways to make myself useful, splitting wood, re-thatching the roof, hunting rabbits and other small game. Sorcha wasn’t immediately receptive to my charms, but after a few weeks of persistence, not to mention a few weeks of being the only guy around who wasn’t her father, we came to an understanding of sorts.
That understanding being that whenever her father wasn’t around, we’d make love like minks as often as possible while still getting all her chores done. This went on for a couple of months before Finlay made mention of getting along in years and needing someone to start taking the boat out a few days a week. Now Finlay wasn’t an old man, but when the average man lived to only his mid-thirties, it didn’t take long for someone to think he was old, especially when he was well into his third decade. That would usually have been my clue to move on before anyone caught on to the fact that I wasn’t aging, but I decided that Finlay already knew something was odd about me, and Sorcha was so head over heels for me that she wouldn’t care. So one night, after dinner, I decided to tell them the truth about myself.
“Sorcha, Finlay, there’s something about me that you should know.” I started.
“Aye, son, what’s that?” Fin replied.
“Well, I’ve enjoyed my time here. A lot. And I’d like to stay on for a while longer. But if you don’t want me around after you hear what I have to say, then I understand.”
“What is it, lad? I can’t fathom anything ye could say that we’d toss ye out on your ear for, but go ahead with yuir tale.”
“Well, it’s like this. You were talking about getting on in years…” I paused, unsure of how to continue.
“Aye, and I am. It’s not something I’m thrilled about, but it’s happenin’ just the same.”
“Well, I won’t.”
“Huh?” I love it when I can get that reaction out of someone else. Petty, I know, but that’s how I roll.
“I don’t age. And I don’t die. I’ve been alive a long time, a lot longer than anyone else ever has, and there’s no sign that I’m going to die any time soon.” It felt good to say it, but I wasn’t really sure what was going to happen next.
“What…are ye?” Sorcha asked in a scared, small voice. The look on her face was why I so seldom told anyone about my true nature.
“I’m a man, like any other. Except I don’t get old, and I don’t die.”
“So yuir a god?” She asked, breathless. In Ireland at that time it wasn’t out of the realm of most people’s understanding for a deity to visit the Earth and consort with mortal women. And Sorcha was worth some consorting, let me tell you.
“No. I’m just a man.” I said.
“But ye won’t die? Ever?” Fin asked.
“If history serves as any indication for future performance, no, I’ll never die.”
“And Aidan isn’t yuir name, is it?” he continued.
“No. Most places I’m called Adam.” I confirmed.
“I need a drink.” Sorcha sat down heavily in a chair by the fire, and I got a bottle from the cupboard and poured a big slug for each of us. Fin drained his in one gulp, and held out his cup for another. I poured him another drink, and sat down myself.
“So do you want me to leave? I’m sorry I deceived you both, but I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”
“Nay, son, ye don’t need ta leave. I’ve grown a bit attached to ye, and I know Sorcha’s taken a right shine to ye as well. I don’t mind keeping ye around if ye’ll learn to be a bit of a better fisherman, so ye can take car of our girl here once I’m gone.” Fin sipped his second drink and settled in to his chair.
“I…I don’t want ye to leave.” Sorcha spoke very quietly, not looking at me. “But what will ye do when I get old?”
“I’ll love you.” I said very quietly, surprising myself a little because it was true. I hadn’t talked of love to anyone since Eve, but this fire-haired maid of Erin had captivated me completely.
“Do ye mean it?” She looked up at me then, and there was a moisture in those jade eyes that tore my heart apart. I knew it was a bad idea, and I knew that it was going to hurt like hell when it ended, but Father help me, I was in love with the girl.
“Aye, I mean it.” I went over to her, took her hands in mine, and said, “Sorcha, will ye be mine and no other’s?” I don’t often affect the accent of the times, but it seemed appropriate at the moment.e
“Aye. Will ye be mine and no other’s?” She asked in turn, and then thought of whom she was asking and added, “as long as we both draw breath?”
“Aye. As long as we both draw breath I am yours and no other’s.” I pulled her to her feet and kissed her for a long time in front of the fire. After what might have been an uncomfortable moment for a father, Finlay coughed.
“Then it’s done. Now that ye be me son, ye must learn to fish for real. I’ll not be havin’ ye stay here and do woman’s work just so ye can sneak off to the woodshed with me daughter every afternoon.” I had the courtesy to blush, and we all laughed and drank well into the night. It was with a throbbing head and a delicate stomach that I went out with Fin the next morning to begin my true education as a fisherman, but somehow I managed.
by john | Jun 27, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
We rolled into Nashville a bit before suppertime and got a couple of rooms at a Fairfield on the outskirts of town. I didn’t know how long we were going to be on this little adventure and wanted to stretch our cash as long as we could, so I decided to forego the Jacuzzi room, no matter how good a soak sounded after a day in a car with Michael and Myra. Myra was a good co-pilot, but driving all day was driving all day, no matter how much you liked the navigator. Eve and Emily had ridden together, Eve giving me some line about wanting to get to know the kid better, but I figured she just didn’t want me to suggest that Michael ride shotgun with her in her beat up pickup, and I was pretty sure that the suspension in that thing didn’t do anyone any favors after the first five hours on the road. Cain looked fresh as a daisy after a day on his motorcycle, and I was more than a little jealous. I’ve always loved bikes, the feeling of power and control is like nothing else in the world, and there’s really nothing wrong with a couple of gnats in your teeth. I’ve always considered it a fair exchange.
“Alright, kiddies. We’ve got three rooms, so I figured Myra and I would share one…” I started, but Eve was smirking at me so I pulled up short. “What?”
“Nothing, dear. Go right ahead with your little bunk assignments.” Eve replied.
I went on. “Um…there are two beds in each room, so I thought Eve and Emily would share one room and Michael and Cain could share the other one. Is that okay with everyone?” Hearing no objections, I went on. “Why don’t we take an hour or so to freshen up, grab a nap if you want one, and we can all meet back here for dinner, then we can figure out where to start looking for whoever it is we’re supposed to find. That work?” I passed keys out to everyone and grabbed my bag from the back of Eve’s truck. She was still smirking at me as I passed her on my way to the elevator.
“What are you grinning about?” I asked.
“Nothing. I just think it’s cute.” She said.
“What’s cute?”
“You’re being so, what’s the word, solicitous of Myra. I mean, really, Adam. You left her more than two decades ago and haven’t spared a moment’s thought for her until a couple of days ago when you were steered back into her life by our friendly meddling archangel, and now all of a sudden you’re playing Daddy of the Year to little Emily, who I assure you is more than capable of taking care of herself, and you’re being all Ward Cleaver to Myra, who might even be buying it, which is quite possibly saddest thing I’ve seen since you fell head over heels for that redhead in Ireland. You remember her? What was her name?”
“Sorcha.” I replied quietly. I remembered her well. Almost stereotypically Irish, with brilliant green eyes, milk-white skin and curly red hair. The name means “bright, radiant, light” and I used to joke with her that she got particularly radiant when she was angry, which with me around happened more often than she deserved.
I met her when I was passing through Ireland studying the myth of Cuchulain. I’d heard them once long ago, and when Sechan Torpeist brought them back in the 7th Century, I decided to wander through Ireland following the trail of Ulster’s Hound. I’d been hanging around Mecca for a while listening to the (at that time) new teachings of Mohammed, but headed West when it became apparent that one more time a young prophet was going to talk a lot about love and peace, and one more time the powers that be were going to start killing people to protect he status quo.
I’d seen all that before with the Carpenter, and I kinda liked Mohammed, so I headed to Europe before the people around him could muddy up everything he was trying to teach. I’ve always wondered if I stuck around if I could have avoided some of the stupidity they put into his version of The Book about women. I know if Eve had been around that crap would never have seen print. But anyway, I headed west, and stopped in Ireland to wander around and look for Hound tracks.
I do that every now and then, meander a countryside to look for evidence of legends. It’s pretty entertaining to see where the tallest of tales grows from, and you get to see some pretty country that way. Well, I was meandering around the part of Ireland where Cuchulain was supposed to have killed Cullen’s watchdog and taken its place, when I came upon a little farmhouse. It was late, I was hungry, and there was a pot on the fire. The Irish have always been a hospitable people, and when I knocked on the door and showed that I had a little booze with me, I was welcomed to hearth and home.
Her father, Finlay if I recall, was a fisherman in County Donegal, and he had a couple of big mackerel over a fire when I first arrived. He and I sat up most of the night drinking and telling lies, as fisherman and travelling men are wont to do, and by the time the sun came up, we were fast friends. Truth be told, I didn’t even notice Sorcha that first night, but I later found out that she noticed me. That’s not some great comment on my virility or spectacular attractiveness, although I am plenty virile and more attractive than most. It’s more a comment on exactly how few men of apparently similar age had ventured near the coast of County Donegal since she had developed an eye for young men.
The next morning Finlay and I went out on his boat, my first efforts at fishing since most people stopped doing it by standing in the shallows and casting nets. I’d been pretty good at surf fishing, and was relatively handy with a spear in a stream, but this whole business of rods was foreign to me. There were no reels involved, thank Father, or I’m sure I would have ended up more frequently punctured than I did, but I still managed to provide Finlay with a good day’s worth of amusement. At least he knew what he was doing, and I could row well enough, so the day wasn’t a complete waste. It was when we walking back up the path to their house that I first got a good look at Sorcha. She was chopping wood for the dinner fire, and the sun was setting behind her making it look like her hair was a fiery halo. I’ll admit it; I was downright twitterpated. I might even have left the fish lying along the path if Finlay hadn’t noticed my plight and helped me back into motion with a kick in the ass.
“Put ‘em back in yer head, laddie, that’s me Sorcha you’re gapin’ at.”
“Your?”
“Me daughter. And I’ll thank you to be scrubbin’ yer thoughts clean as snow before ye direct ‘em her way again.” I looked over at him, but the old man was grinning at me.
“Sorry.” I said, not meaning a letter of the word.
“Liar,” he laughed as we continued on our way up to the house.
by john | Jun 26, 2009 | Fiction, The Chosen
“Em, would you go talk to Michael? He’s sulking.” I asked as she finished singing.
“Why is he sulking? What did you do?” She asked. She looked so cute when she crossed her arms like that and glared at me. It was less cute when I realized that Eve and Myra were doing it, too. Cain, for his part, was sitting on the base of the statue picking out the opening notes to an Avett Brothers tune called Murder in the City. The song is written from one brother to another telling him not to take vengeance if he gets killed. Kid definitely had the ironic thing down cold.
“I might have given him the impression that the youth, and probably most of humanity in general, was indifferent to religion.” I went for a sheepish grin at the end, but probably only looked queasy. She sighed the sigh of the long-suffering woman, which oddly enough has been quickly mastered by every female I’ve ever spent more than a couple of days with, and went over to talk with Michael. She sat on the bench next to him as Myra came up to stand next to me.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to fix your mess, and I knew you’d come to Em for help. Everybody does eventually.” She said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“Then why didn’t you just send her over to talk to him in the first place? Hell, Myra, I don’t even like the guy. Remember, I’m the one who decked him!”
“Yeah, but you needed a little reminder that your words carry weight. Even with angels, Adam. Everybody pays more attention to what you say than you think. And probably more than we should. But we do it anyway.”
“And why is that?”
“Call it respect for our elders if you like.”
“Ouch.”
“I’m kidding. But face it, you’re the Adam. You’ve been around forever, and even though Michael has been an angel a lot longer than you’re been human, he’s only been on earth a few days. You’ve been on earth longer than anyone. So when you talk about human nature, he’s gonna believe you. And if you drop a bombshell, somebody’s gonna have to pick up the pieces. Lucky for you, she’s good at picking up the pieces.” There was something in her eyes when she said that, a little glimmer that she blinked away almost before I could notice it, but I filed it away under the “things I want to ask about when we’re alone rather than in a park with out whole posse and a passel of unwashed kids wearing hemp pants” category.
Emily sat with Michael for a minute or two before he sat up and looked at her. Then they sat there for a few more minutes before he straightened and began to assume a little of the officious shithead posture that we were looking for. Then Emily waved me over to them, and after a few seconds of the confused chest-pointing thing I realized she really did want me over there, so I went. I walked up, a little nervously, to where my daughter and the Sword of Heaven sat on a park bench, her arm around his shoulders and him blotting his eyes with a blue silk hanky that I swear he didn’t have when I was sitting there.
“Dad, I think you owe Michael an apology.” Emily said as I walked up. Crap. They weren’t going to make this easy on me. I looked back at Eve and Myra, who made a “go on” gesture with their hands. Cain just shrugged and smirked a little at me as if to say “I’m not the one who made the angel cry, dad. I just invented murder.”
“Michael…I don’t really know what to say, but I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intimate that people today didn’t believe in The Father anymore, and I didn’t mean to upset you. So, um, sorry.” God I hoped that was all he needed to get going. It had gone from muggy to chilly as the night went on, and if we stuck around this park any longer I was gonna need to pee before we hit the highway. That, and I couldn’t really think of anything else to say.
“What about my face?” Michael asked, his expression a perfect mask.
“Your, uh, face?” I was honestly confused here.
“Yes. My face. You hit me, Adam. That just isn’t done. If I deserve an apology for anything, it’s for you putting your hands on one of the Host.”
“You have got to be kidding me. You deserved every single punch you’ve taken since I saw you, and probably more besides. If you think I’m going to apologize for punching you in the face, then you can take your flaming sword and” Michael was up off the bench with his arms around me before I could tell him exactly where I thought his sword would fit nicely.
“Oh, you do like me! Emily was right, you put on this gruff exterior to hide your true feelings, and the nastier you are to people the more you care about them! I knew there was no way you truly despised me, after all I am an Archangel, the most Heavenly of the Heavenly Host. Oh, Adam, it is so good to know how you truly feel.” I glared over the angel’s shoulder at Emily, who mouthed at me “just go with it” in exaggerated expressions. I took the high road and gently disentangled myself from Michael before he started to sport a chubby. The last thing I needed was an immaculately dressed angel feeling me up in a New Orleans public park in the middle of the night. I’d already been to the precinct house once today, and that was quite enough, thanks.
“Well, now that we’ve got all that sorted out, can we go?” I asked Michael as the rest of our troupe gathered ‘round.
“Of course. We must away at once to find the one who must make the Choice.” Replied the angel.
“So, where are we going? And I’m not leaving my truck. Period.” Eve has always had such a way of making her opinions known. Usually by stating them loudly and often.
“Nashville. We’ll find the young man in Nashville, Tennessee.” Nashville. Ok, I guess we were going country.
