Cramped Quarters - Love Under Lockdown

“I was the middle of five kids. Two older, two younger, a boy and a girl on each end. My parents were the chapter founders where we were and were really busy. They tried their best for us, even if they weren’t there a lot. I never doubted that they loved us.”

He took another drink. I guessed he was trying to calm his nerves before he continued.

“When I was fifteen, we had a new arrival to the Temple. A life-long LaVeyan who had moved across the country just to join our chapter and study to become a priestess. She’d heard good things and was looking to make a difference. Deadly serious and with the force of a hurricane, she really shook things up.”

“What was her name?”

“Jax. Short for Jackson. She was named after her uncle who had been killed by a Bible-thumping sheriff who took a disliking to him. She took a liking to me and became a sort of mentor. She taught me everything I would need to know to get by in the world. Especially how to deal with the hate I was going to get by being different. Something she’d been dealing with for years.”

“How old was she?”

“At that time, a ripe old twenty-four. Keep in mind, I was only fifteen, so she seemed a lot older. In some ways she was, already having lived more lifetimes in less than a quarter century than most people do in their entire lifespans. I heard about a lot of it, usually when she was trying to talk me down from doing something stupid, using her experience to set me on a better path.”

“Did you love her?”

“I mean, in my own way, at the time. The way only teenagers boys can love.”

He took another drink.

His hands were beginning to shake, his lower lip following close behind. But he kept talking.

“She was amazing and terrifying, depending on if she liked you or not. Outside my family, she was my whole world for a time. Not everyone felt the same. As the temple started to grow under her influence and she became more of an experienced priestess, more people started to take notice. Both positive and negative.

“This was about when the trouble with your dad started. It went on for about two years. From when I was seventeen to when I was nineteen. There were counter protests and that sort of thing. Nothing we couldn’t handle. I got pissed when my older sister got hit by a rock thrown by one of your dad’s flock. I felt honor bound to try and do something, but Jax talked me down. She probably saved my life.”

He was quiet for a long time. His head hung, looking at the bottle clenched in his hands between his knees like it contained the secrets of the universe.

His breathing became ragged, as if he was trying not to cry.

“The death threats started coming. Mostly bullshit. Ghost stories, as Tom MacDonald would say. It even became funny after a while. We should have paid more attention.”

“It’s okay,” I said, taking his hand.

He didn’t pull away.

“We were at one of our demonstrations. Jax was giving a speech, powerful and mesmerizing as ever. Just as she started saying how the words used to describe us are widely misunderstood and greater understanding was needed if monotheists and others were ever going to co-exist, like the bumper-stickers say. She had made it as far as ‘bumper’ when the first shots rang out.

“We’d been warned. Some pastor had written in, saying he had bought a new box of hollow points just for her. Dammit if he wasn’t telling the truth. The church letterhead really should have been a clue.’’

The sound made me jump. His fist nearly broke the coffee table in half at the center. Augustus rubbed his eyes, ending tears before they were able to start.

“I was standing behind her. We all saw her fall, but I was the only one who tried to catch her. She tried to say something, but the shots had gone right through her lungs. The bastard kept going. Most of the rounds exploded into the brick wall behind us. In all the excitement, I got hit while I was holding her in my arms, watching the life flicker from her eyes.”

I wanted to hug him, though I didn’t know if I should. I kept holding his hand, squeezing it tighter, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

“It’s what I see every time I go to sleep or look in the mirror. The speech, the shots, what happened afterwards. I don’t look in the mirror much anymore, actually. Up until recently, I was lucky to get three hours of sleep.”

So that explained a lot.

“What happened?”

“You.”

“Really?”

“I don’t pretend to know what it is or what will happen. All I know is that there is something very special about you.”