The Dominant Hand Page 15

  “How long have I been like this?” Ira asked.

  The figure drifted just below the scoreboard high above the court. The players below were little more than dark spots, yet they flowed as if they were actually playing a game.

  “You look good today, Ira,” his wife whispered.

  Ira looked back up at the figure and noticed that the roof of the arena was melting and falling to the court. The players blew off the court, then fluttered back like moths and resumed the game. Ira glanced back to his wife’s image, but it had faded away.

  The arena dissolved around him, leaving him and the figure floating in empty air.

  “I think I might be ready to die.”

  Vision three: While touching Ira’s bloody clothes

  The world was a pale white, Ira sat in the air, slowly spinning with his eyes closed. A forest erupted out of the emptiness and Ira fell to the ground. He laid back, unable to move himself. Blood trickled out of his mouth. Large, hairy and leathery-skinned beasts emerged above him. They had wide, snub noses with wide chests and short legs. They hunched over like apes. They watched him curiously until the bright figure lowered to the ground and the beasts retreated quickly.

  “What happened to me?” Ira asked, finally able to move. The same bright figure that had emerged before was before him, but didn’t answer him. The figure did look in my direction, and I became intently aware that I was affecting Ira’s dream.

  Ira saw the beasts again, this time running upright like humans, but moving backward as if the world was being rewound. A shadow of Ira emerged, running backward as well, just in front of the beasts. Knives and rocks were lifting off the ground, passing just beside the running image of Ira and returning to the beasts’ hands. They turned their backs to Ira, disappeared and the scene stopped completely.

  Ira floated closer to the scene, examining the shadow of himself. That shadow stood behind a tree watching a new group of figures that were little more than mists of color shaped like humans. They stood around a silver disc lying flat on the ground. After a few moments, an explosion of light emitted from the disc. The dark-skinned beasts appeared and started clubbing and stabbing the figures. The beasts saw Ira and began chasing him again; this time they ran forward in real time. Before the scene could play itself out, the forest ignited and quickly burned down. The smoke billowed, swirled and then disappeared. A night club appeared with a band playing onstage, the band’s music matching the music playing in Ira’s dream.

  The bright presence lowered and lit up the night club.

  “What were those things?” Ira asked.

  “Just hallucinations, Child,” the figure answered. “You went to that forest to find your friend, you went to help him. But you couldn’t find him, could you?”

  “Jim called me that day,” Ira muttered. “He said he needed help.”

  “What happened, what you really saw is something you can’t understand, so your mind created those beasts to explain it.”

  “Something beat me though, it wasn’t those beasts?” Ira asked. “Like the ones Jim talked about?”

  “They were humans, Child,” the figure said. “Your confused mind created those monsters. Unlike you, Jim managed to survive, but his mind created a fantasy to explain it as well. You’ll need to let it go, there’s nothing you can do about any of it. Your mind is dying, and you’ll die along with it. Just try to remain at peace until you are released from this world.”

  Ira glanced at the presence, which had dimmed considerably. Though it was still washed over with light, I could make out the details of an elderly woman with wrinkled maple skin and thick glasses. Bright white flowed out all around her body and arched above her like wings.

  “Who are you?” Ira asked.

  “I’m your guardian angel,” she said. “I’ve been watchin’ for weeks and helping you the best I can.”

  Ira ran his hand over his head, noticing blood trickling down through his hair. He held out his hand and studied the blood.

  “It wasn’t a hallucination,” Ira mumbled. “Something real happened. Those things seemed so real.”

  “All the answers’ll come soon.”

  “Jim wouldn’t do this to me?”

  “Child, those people who follow him are far beyond his control. Jim managed to save you from those people. You’re now back in Dallas.”

  The once detailed landscape dissolved into masses of color and motion, like a series of impressionistic paintings that flowed like rivers. The colors rose above him and spun like the walls of a tornado.

  “Is that thing that I saw, that disc, is it still out there?” Ira asked.

  “Don’t worry about that now, Child.”

  “Is my wife in danger?” Ira demanded.

  The figure frowned, but held her eyes on Ira.

  “Everyone out in that world is in danger, but there’s nothing you can do, Honey. You need to clear your mind for the trip you are about to take.”

  “What if those monsters were real, if you’re the hallucination, if the anomaly is real?” Ira asked urgently. “They’ll need to know.”

  “There is nothing you can do for them, Child.”

  Ira watched the confusion around him, trying to gain some kind of control. The wall of colors twisted, and a small patch of it slowed and stopped. The colors melted, and light emerged beneath it. It was a senseless image at first, but then slowly began focusing.

  “What is that?” Ira asked.

  He collapsed to his back, his eyes glazed as he looked out at the patch of light. He was attempting to wake up.

  “Mmm,” his voice murmured over the music. “Mmmorrmmm.”

  I felt the weight of the sheets, the piercing pain in his head, the gentle and stale air. A face appeared out of the patch. It was the same he’d seen in the clouds, the one he’d called “Marcus.”

  “Mrrrrm,” his voice grumbled.

  “Ira?” Marcus’ voice echoed between the waves of pain. “Ira?”

  “Jaaahhhmmm,” Ira attempted.

  A wave of electricity shot through the entire world; Ira’s body began jerking violently. The patch succumbed to a tornado of color. The guardian angel flew to Ira and smiled.

  “You tried, Child,” she said. “What’s about to happen out there is beyond your control, but you tried. Good for you, a hero until the end.”

  Herb Hefner

  Third clip—walking into a small clearing, trees all around. Three people are kneeling, blindfolded with their hands and feet bound with a rope connecting them to each other by their arms. They have been identified as the journalist Charles Martin, a pawn shop owner named Oscar Ramirez and his son Sgt. Seth “Junior” Ramirez of the 82nd Airborne. Martin seems only partially conscious; he weaves back and forth as if he’s about to pass out. The other two seem fully alert

  As the clip begins, Anderson’s voice is muttering something indiscernible, possibly to another person off camera. The camera focuses on the three, and then scans the field around them, which has a large circle of dead grass. The rest of the field has live grass and weeds that have been trimmed or mowed. There are groupings of stones and what appears to be a severed hand inside the barren circle.

  Anderson: Why are these three here?

  Hefner (stepping into frame and kneeling in front of Martin): These are sacrifices that will help control the anomaly until the Prophet returns. We are not certain we want to utilize them quite yet. Fortunately, we have a replacement.

  Anderson: You’re going to kill them?

  Hefner (reaches up to Martin’s face and touches it gently. Martin flinches): Live sacrifices seem to have more of an impact.

  The camera pans as two men wearing kilts carry three small trash bags. They walk to the circle of dead grass and empty out severed hands into the circle. Hefner stands and walks to the circle and stops between two groupings of rocks. He raises his hands upward and mutters incoherently. He drops his hands, kneels in the circle and kisses one of the severed hands on the palm.

&
nbsp; Hefner returns to the three men that are blindfolded. He kneels down to Sgt. Ramirez and whispers into his ear. Sgt. Ramirez jerks away, and the other two are tugged over by the rope that connects them.

  Hefner: Shhh. It’s okay, you are sacrificing yourself for all of us.

  Sgt. Ramirez: I’m going to fucking kill you.

  Hefner (runs hand over Sgt. Ramirez’s hair): Shhh.

  Hefner moves to Oscar Ramirez.

  Hefner: Your daughter is safe.

  Oscar: Fuck you.

  Hefner: Please, calm yourself, this will all be over soon.

  Oscar: Fuck you. Where is my goddamn daughter? What the hell happened to the other kid that came with us?

  Hefner: The other boy has been dealt with and will not trouble you any longer. And, do not carry hatred for your daughter. She only sacrificed you for the good of the world.

  Oscar: Bullshit, she did it for the drugs! That’s the only reason any of you people are here, for the fuckin’ drugs! Nobody believes this bullshit, I know where I am, I’ve hunted in these woods for years. There ain’t nothing here. Ya’ll just use this to get high, and my daughter didn’t give us up for your bullshit religion, she gave us up because she needs a fuckin’ fix.

  Hefner motions back to the men who carried in the hands. They nod and leave.

  Oscar: She ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya fuckin’ freak. Just give her something to smoke or inject and she’ll stick around.

  Hefner: Perhaps you’re right, but even if she made this sacrifice for the wrong reason, it will still help our cause. If you want out of these chains, then you have to pray for the return of the Prophet, because only he can save you.

  Oscar: You’re the one that took my daughter’s hand, aren’t you?

  Hefner: She offered it up to the cause, sir.

  Oscar: I’m slittin’ your throat. I’m going to skin you like a jackrabbit, son.

  Hefner kisses Oscar Ramirez on the forehead and stands.

  Hefner: At nightfall, the sacrifice will take place. The followers have given their left hands to the anomaly, but it grows restless so we will add a human sacrifice tonight.

  Anderson: Can I film it?

  Hefner: No.

  Anderson: Why not?

  Hefner: It is not meant for human eyes.

  Anderson: What about those three?

  Hefner: They will not see anything, which will save their sanity. We will sacrifice them tomorrow, unless the Prophet returns.

  Anderson: What happens then?

  Hefner: I don’t know.

  Anderson: What if he doesn’t return?

  Hefner: There are already plans in motion.

  Fourth clip—the camera follows Hefner back into the compound of tents. A black male, approximately eighteen and known only as Ronald, runs up to Hefner. His left wrist is bandaged where the hand was severed; he holds a cell phone in his right hand. The phone number, included later in this report, is stenciled on the back of the phone.

  Ronald: Excuse me Herb, sir. Nick the Lion is saying Brian the Lion will not cooperate.

  We know very little of “Nick the Lion”. No such person has ever been found, but there are reports that he is a smuggler and coyote named Nick Laurenzano. It is believed he supplied the cult’s cooks with their ingredients.

  There are possibly one or two other Lions, though there is no solid evidence of it.

  Hefner: Be calm, Child, everything is fine. Those two can work it out on their own. Have you talked to Brian?

  Brian Everett is also a “Lion” and surveillance on him and his facility in Oklahoma City is included in this report.

  Ronald: Not yet.

  Hefner (putting his hand on Ronald’s shoulder): If the two of them cannot work out their differences, then we will simply use others to take care of the mission. It is a small thing.

  Ronald: Yes sir.

  Ronald runs off toward tents as he struggled to dial a number with his one hand.

  Anderson: What is the mission, Herb?

  Hefner sits down in the grass and folds his legs.

  Anderson: Herb?

  Hefner: There is so much at stake in these woods that we must cover all possibilities, even the unthinkable.

  Anderson: What is the unthinkable?

  Hefner turns his head to the camera and motions for it to approach.

  Hefner: We have to prepare for the possibility that our Prophet will abandon us.

  Anderson: How do you prepare for that?

  Hefner: By replacing him.

  Eliza Knights

  Dear Agent,

  I am writing you in regards to my manuscript I sent in three weeks ago. I have not yet heard from your office and assume that perhaps the sample I sent was either lost or you were waiting for more. Either way, you should have said something. Regardless, I am sending you a second sample of my book about my grandson’s experience with Jim Jacobs. Another agency said some very rude things about my style, but I assume your agency has better taste. Now, this story is all true, for as far as I can tell. This scene takes place in Norman where Jim’s estranged wife and his child live.

  Still Waiting,

  Eliza Knights (my pen name, mind you)

  Billy’s car idled outside the two-story Tudor house with a black iron mailbox. The front yard was frightfully overgrown with weeds, in stark contrast to the closely trimmed lawns of the suburban neighbors. Billy had been inside the house dozens of times, never for any indecent reasons, mind you, but as a friend. This time, he felt tremendous reluctance. So much was about to change for my darling Billy.

  He finally turned off the ignition and the tired engine of his aged Buick tumbled and whirred until it finally died. He sat silently for a few moments, took a deep breath and jerked himself up and out of the car. He saw Ash through the large rectangular window with lace curtains. She didn’t see him as she read a book while sitting at the dining room table. His heart leapt, turned hard and seemed to collapse into his stomach. He felt sweat moistening his armpits and became paranoid he was going to stink. I wish I could say he got his body odor from his mother’s side, but in all honesty, he got it from his father.

  He walked to the sidewalk leading to the front door. The grass was crawling up along the cracks of the cement, slowly retaking the pavement inch by inch. Billy knew the conversation wouldn’t be easy, but he also knew Ash had wanted to move from Oklahoma ever since Jim disappeared. She was tired of all the faces that watched her, all the ears that heard her secrets and all the eyes that disapproved of everything she’s done since he went away. To be fair, she did give them a lot to talk about.

  The doorbell rang gently inside and he heard short footsteps clamber across the wooden floor toward the door. The dead bolt unlocked and the door jarred open. Jim’s young son, Sean, looked straight out of the doorway, expecting a visitor more kid-sized.

  “Uncle B!” Sean exclaimed, lunging out the door and thrusting his head into Billy’s gut.

  Sean’s skin was a light chocolate milk color, due to his having parents of a mixed race. His smile was bright and wide when he gave it, which wasn’t often. The poor boy was the type who played in his driveway with lots of toys, in hopes that the neighborhood kids he was too shy to approach would be lured by his cars, action figures and water guns.

  He loved Billy, because he was one of the very few adults who talked to him like an adult, but played with him like a kid.

  “How goes it, Sir Sean?” Billy asked, patting the boy’s head. He wondered if he could be a good father to the boy; it wasn’t the first time that the thought had gone through his head.

  “Great, do you want to play Legos with me?”

  “Maybe later, kid,” Billy answered, prying Billy off and noticing Ash looking through the window at them. She was as gorgeous as ever, with an elegant and strong jawline, an impossible hip-to-waist ratio and thick, shapely lips her people were so known for. Her brown eyes wavered when they watched Billy. He could tell that she was expecting bad news. Billy smiled and Ash
waved him in.

  Sean ran inside ahead of Billy, quickly returning with a cat-sized ninja action figure.

  “Wow, that’s pretty cool,” Billy said, walking toward the dining room and looking down at the toy. “What all does he do?”

  “Oh, he talks and he’s got lots of weapons,” Sean said.

  “Hey, Billy,” Ash said, walking up to Billy and giving him a hug. “How are you?”

  “Good, we need to talk,” Billy whispered into her ear.

  Ash leaned away and nodded.

  “You can go play video games, Sean,” Ash said.

  “Can Uncle Billy come?”

  “We need to talk alone,” Ash said.

  “Another time, Sir Sean,” Billy said, nudging Sean on the shoulder.

  Sean shrugged and moped off into the living room. Ash sat down at the large dining room table, and Billy sat down next to her. Billy smiled comfortingly, but Ash was hunched over as if she was preparing to get hit in the face.

  “It’s about Jim,” Billy started.

  “Do you want something to drink?” Ash asked, starting to stand. Billy grasped her hand and held her still. Ash grimaced and sat back down, keeping her eyes on the table.

  “I saw Jim last night,” Billy said. “I talked to him for a while.”

  “How is he?” Ash whispered, a tear dropping off her chin.

  “Not good—I tried to get him to go to a hospital, but he won’t go. The people from the woods, they are hiding him right now. They are preparing for something, but I don’t know what.”

  Ash shook her head, her lip trembled gently.

  “Jim asked me to take you and Sean away,” Billy said. “He said something is about to happen and he wants the two of you far away.”

  Ash didn’t reply, but she sniffled slightly and wiped her eyes. She took a deep breath, straightened her back and stood up. She walked into the kitchen and got a glass. The ice dispenser in the fridge growled and whirred as ice crumbled and tumbled into her glass.