Progeny Read online

  “You pick me up one? Nah, of course not. You’re never thinking of Miles. It hurts, man.”

  John just rubbed his thumb and first two fingers together. “Sorry. Can’t exactly afford the ostentatious stuff you drink.”

  “Ostentatious? What is that, the word of the day?” He looked over his coworker, taking him in from head to foot. “Where’s your hardhat?”

  But John just gave him a knowing look that suggested how ridiculous he perceived such a notion to be.

  “Man, you’re gonna get in trouble! And then who’s gonna help me finish this place, huh? Doesn’t the Bible say something about following the rules?”

  John knew it did — evidently another thing he had to work on. “Come on, let’s get this done.”

  But Miles didn’t move. “You don’t look so good, man. You okay? The wife been chaining you up in the basement again? Doin that crazy thing with the strobe light, putting Scotch tape on your eyelids and all? I mean, it’s strange, but then there’s a lot of strange people out there… I’m just saying I didn’t peg her to be one of them — a weirdo like that. Even if I’d known you before, been your best man and everything, I still wouldn’t have warned you because, like I said, I had no idea she was into that stuff. You should really call the police. It’s a free country. You have rights. I mean it, man…”

  Smiling, John shook his head and walked over to a stack of sheetrock.

  “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” Miles asked with more seriousness.

  He shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  Miles walked to the other side of the stack and asked, “It’s tomorrow, isn’t it? You don’t want to go.”

  “Of course I don’t want to go.”

  They picked up four 4x16 sheets of drywall and moved them to a bare aluminum-studded wall.

  Miles rolled his eyes under the low-hanging brim of his hardhat. “Yeah, you’re right. Why would anyone want to go to a place like that?”

  John shrugged off the sarcasm as he stood one of the pieces on end himself. “It’s not like that.”

  “What is it then?” Miles asked. “You don’t want to leave Kristen? She’ll be fine.”

  “It’s not that either.”

  “It’s the guys then. You’re afraid they’ll make fun of you.”

  Sighing, John held the edge of the sheet up against a piece of rock they had hung the day before while Miles used his drill to drive some screws into it. “I’m not afraid of them.” He pulled a ten-foot ladder over, and Miles started climbing it, driving screws into the drywall as he went.

  Turning at the top of the ladder, Miles looked down and continued to probe. “You’re afraid of what you’ll find.”

  But John didn’t have an answer for him. “I don’t want to think about it right now. I’ll worry about it on the plane.” Then he looked back up to Miles. “It’s not like it’s a vacation, you know. It’s only four days.”

  “Three.” Miles held up three fingers. “Three days, John. In four days we’re here wrapping this place up, you understand? No gallivanting around, getting caught up in the moment over there. You better be back here on Monday, man.”

  “My return ticket’s for Sunday night. Don’t worry, I already can’t wait to be back.”

  Retreating back down the ladder so that he could move it over to the next stud, Miles shook his head. “I ain’t sayin you can’t have fun. I’m just sayin don’t forget about Miles.”

  John turned and looked back out into the rain, into the rising industrial park, the serenity of the view lulling him into a daze-like stupor.

  Miles moved the ladder over and noticed John staring off. “You sure you’re okay, man?”

  John blinked. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “You sure you’re sure? This ain’t something from the war, is it?”

  John’s demeanor was beginning to ripen with impatience. “I’m fine.” And there was a finality in his voice that warned against further inquiry.

  Miles held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. But whatever’s going on, you just don’t look right. I tried to help you, so I done my part.”

  “Appreciate it,” John muttered, getting another sheet ready. In fact, he did appreciate it, though he didn’t know how to express it without venturing through the swelling tides of what was really bothering him — something that he didn’t understand himself. Maybe that was another thing he had to work on. It seemed to be a never-ending list. He knew it was a lifelong process, the changing, but that wasn’t something he often found a lot of solace in.

  “Yeah,” Miles muttered back, frustrated. “What are friends for, right? Now if you’re done sulking about tomorrow, we need to double-time it if you want me to spackle and tape all this before you get back.”

  TWO

  5:21 PM. 20th day of May. Wilkinsburg, Pennsylvania

  Rain was still falling when John parked his truck a few doors down from their home, and as he ran down the cracked sidewalk, the cool breeze sweeping down the street of old row homes and playing every wind instrument it could find, he waved to a few neighbors that sat watching from under the dry protection of their covered porches. Struggling with the gate at the foot of their property, he added another stroke into the neat arc that was carved into the concrete below its metal post. He didn’t bother to close it behind him, just ran for the steps, passing the mailbox in his haste. As soon as he got onto the porch, he pulled off his soaking wet t-shirt and tossed it on a rocking chair that sat facing the overgrown baseball field across the street. He then kicked off his boots and removed his socks before opening the squeaky storm door. He noticed in the reflection of the glass that his neighbors were still staring at him from their porches. Whether they were looking at his well-defined upper body, the scars that traced it, or the tattoos, he wasn’t sure and didn’t really care. Pretending not to notice, he slipped the key into the keyhole and pushed open the wooden door.

  “Kristen,” he called.

  “Hey, babe,” she responded, leaning over the banister above him. She smiled when she noticed his condition. “You’re half naked.” She waited for him to climb the steps and wrap her in his arms. He pressed his lips into hers before she could pull out of his slippery embrace. “And you’re wet,” she said, finally escaping his grasp.

  “It’s raining out.”

  “Really? Are you sure?” She smiled as thunder shook the house. “Dinner’ll be ready in fifteen minutes. You should take a shower.” She kissed him again and bounced gingerly down the stairs, her dark hair floating after her.

  “How was work?”

  “Work,” she replied from what he guessed was the kitchen, “was work. You?”

  “Same.”

  “You finish rocking the place?”

  “Yeah, had to.” He leaned over the balcony. “Miles would’ve killed me if he had to hang something by himself tomorrow.” Hearing her laugh, he turned away from the stairs and headed toward the bedroom.

  The scent of garlic and olive oil caught his nose as the hot water fell out of the faucet and erased another day’s work from his body. He tried to relax and enjoy the moment, but his mind seemed determined to fixate only on tomorrow. On his brother. And so his shower was a quick one.

  ****

  After eating a pleasant dinner and chasing after topics to talk about other than the following day, they retreated into the living room where they both knew the topic would finally be raised. Kristen had held off as long as she could, but tomorrow was now on the horizon.

  John sat in an armchair that faced the couch Kristen was lying on. She was leaning comfortably on her side with knees bent beneath her, her arm resting on a cushion. Her shorts, usually modest, were riding up and exposing her toned thighs. John thought she looked beautiful and told her so. She smiled, told him not to change the subject. He looked at the clock hanging above the cherry-red bookcase they’d gotten from a Salvation Army when they first moved in and couldn’t believe that it was already quarter till seven.

 
“So…” she stated as she wiped a long strand of hair away from her blue eyes.

  He sighed, realizing just how incredibly immature he was being.

  “You’re leaving tomorrow,” Kristen went on.

  “Yeah.”

  She looked at him sympathetically. After being married for three years, it didn’t take any great amount of sleuthing for her to know that something about this trip was bothering him, scaring him — that there was more to his strange silence than just a stubborn refusal to face a chore he had no desire to participate in. But she had decided not to press him for answers. Instead, she wanted to give him the time that he needed to work out whatever it was before having to actually put it into words for her. But now, with him leaving in just a matter of hours, that time had come to an end. “Still don’t want to go?”

  “Still don’t want to go.”

  “Is it Henry, or his friends?”

  John diverted his eyes, set them on nothing in particular. “I don’t know.”

  “Johnny, what is it?” Her eyes were soft and pleading, begging him to trust her.

  He met her gaze. “I don’t know. I don’t know why they need me to go with them. It’s… strange.”

  “If you’re having bad feelings about the trip, Johnny, then don’t go. Maybe it’s the Lord’s way of stopping you.”

  He thought of a hundred more effective ways God could tell him as much. “He’s my brother,” he stated. As much as he didn’t want to go or understand why they wanted him to go, it was that simple fact that had predetermined his going from the start. “I don’t know, maybe this is my chance to set things right between us.”

  She looked down at her hands and began playing with her wedding ring. “I don’t know what to tell you, Johnny. You feel you need to go, and yet you have all these reservations about going…”

  “I don’t know, babe. And I don’t really want to think about it. I’m going whether I like it or not, and what happens, happens.”

  She got up and sat in his lap, throwing her arms around his neck and nestling her face into his chest. She sat like that for fifteen minutes while he silently ran his fingers through her hair.

  She finally looked up, her eyes twinkling in the artificial light shining from a nearby lamp, and kissed him. “You’ve been acting a little strange over the last few days. Is it really because of the trip… or is it something else?”

  He looked down at her, not realizing until now just how much his feelings had been affecting his behavior. He realized he’d been standoffish, stuck somewhere in his own head. “I don’t know.”

  She sat up a little. “What do you mean?”

  “I feel weird.”

  “About going?”

  “Maybe.” And then he shook his head. “I don’t think so. Something just seems… off. I can’t explain it.” He sighed. “Sorry.”

  There was a shred of concern in her voice when she asked, “It’s not war-related, is it? Not the nightmares again?” Maybe she had been wrong in thinking that he didn’t want to go because of the company he’d be keeping or that he wasn’t ready to confront the reality of his brother’s fate. Maybe it was something else entirely.

  “No.” But then, once more, he thought better of it. “I don’t think so.” He clenched his jaw. “I feel like I’m losing it.”

  She could see in his eyes how much whatever this was was afflicting him. She touched his face. “What do you need, Johnny?”

  He shook his head. “Prayer.”

  They talked about it for another ten minutes before John’s eyes began growing heavy with exhaustion. In the years she had known him, she had never seen him like this. She was convinced that he was scared of something, but wasn’t sure if saying so would make things better or worse for him. So she left him to his thoughts, praying that whatever was troubling him would eventually come to light, and that there would be some way for her to help him once it did. In the meantime, however, she was going to wash the dinner plates.

  As she walked away, John let his eyes close.

  ****

  John.”

  Kristen’s voice startled him, and his eyes snapped wide, confused. “What?” he asked, trying to find his bearings.

  “It’s okay,” Kristen said soothingly. “I’m going to bed. I packed your bags, so unless there’s something I missed, you should be all set for tomorrow. The tickets are on the dresser with your passport and cash.” She leaned forward and kissed him rather passionately. “Come to bed soon.”

  He nodded, his senses returning, and watched her walk to the steps.

  “If I’m asleep, wake me.” She winked and disappeared up to the bedroom.

  John looked up at the clock. 11:18. He’d been asleep there on the armchair for nearly four hours. He had to get up, had to be with Kristen. What kind of husband would he be if he spent the night sleeping downstairs? Just five more minutes…

  ****

  When he awoke, everything looked exactly the same, and he was sure he had only been unconscious for ten minutes at the most. However, upon testing his theory against the record of the clock, he found himself to be terribly wrong. It was pushing close to 2 A.M. The revelation squeezed a swear word out from under his breath, and he chided himself for the slip. Angry with himself for leaving Kristen to spend her last night with him in an empty bed, he went quickly for the stairs. He had a foot on the first step when something he couldn’t explain made him turn and look back at the front door, through the glass window. The mailbox, sitting lonely beneath a streetlamp at the end of the property, suddenly captured his attention. And before he knew what he was doing, he was out the front door and descending the steps. He reasoned with himself as he went, trying to convince himself that it was because he’d probably forget to check it in the morning that he was drawn to it now. He went through the open gate and pulled down the lid to the mailbox. There was a package wedged into the small space and resting atop a small stack of white envelopes. John looked up and down the vacant street just as a flash of lightning lit up the cloud-covered sky, the timing of which seemed too perfect to be blamed on mere coincidence. He spit on the ground before reaching into the box. This time, as he paused to study the darkness hiding the ball field he knew to be across from him, he made sure to close the gate.

  Standing at the kitchen table, he stared at the manila envelope. There was a kind of foreboding that seemed to be emanating from within it — like the ticking sound of a clock, like some countdown to doom. Though there was no return address or any kind of postage decorating the bland package, it might as well have been covered in biohazard warnings, radiation symbols, and postmarked from the Middle East. The lack of identification, of origin and intent, seemed bizarre enough when considering the context of his recent feelings — the physical evidence of such a fact being represented by the hair standing on his forearms. Taking a deep breath, he ripped it open and dumped its contents onto the kitchen table.

  A single video cassette tape, unmarked.

  The tabs were snapped, so he knew it wouldn’t be blank. You didn’t break the tabs unless you wanted to keep the contents of the tape from being recorded over.

  Suppressing a series of chills that raced up his spine and tingled his scalp, he walked to a cabinet and retrieved a flashlight. Leaving the cassette on the table, he walked quietly upstairs, past the open door leading to the bedroom, and went to the attic. Reaching up for the cord dangling above him, he pulled the stairs down and unfolded them, hoping the stretching springs wouldn’t stir Kristen from her sleep. He flicked the light on and took one squeaky step at a time.

  He found what he was looking for in the third dusty box, and, with the VCR in hand, he descended from out of the attic, quickly closing the door behind him — afraid an attic demon would leap down at him before he could reseal its cell. He was pretty sure that once demons from the attic gained access to the rest of the house, life would just get more complicated. He’d Google it later, providing the top story terror didn’t escape down the st
airs after him.

  He managed to close the attic door without waking up Kristen or springing free the malevolent spirits thought to be trapped in the room’s cobwebbed corners.

  Sitting in front of the television, the old VCR hooked up to the TV, John continued to study the black plastic cassette in his hands, flipping open the long plastic door at the top and examining the tape itself.

  Suddenly feeling a presence behind him, he turned, ready to explain to Kristen what he was doing. But there was no one there.

  More tingles.

  Trying to ignore his shaking hands, he pushed the cassette in.

  The tape dropped down into the deck, and the picture flickered on the television screen. It began playing, and the sudden image of a man in mid-sentence filled the picture. But John knew from having looked at the tape that it didn’t need rewinding.

  Five seconds later, the shot changed, panning back and showing two men positioned on a stage and facing each other. They were seated at their own tables, books and other reference material strewn out in front of them. A large symbol was painted on the wall up behind them — three circles with a cross and some initials over a scripture reference. The men appeared to be facing off in front of an audience. Some kind of debate. An old one, if the video quality and the men’s clothing proved a reliable indication.

  John sat back and tried to pick up on the topic of discussion, and why someone would want him to witness it.

  “Men began to multiply on the face of the earth,” stated the man on the right, removing a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and holding them in a rather animated right hand. “What men?”

  What men, indeed? thought John.

  “Is it not the whole of the human race that is meant here? So, contextually, does it not make sense that the next time we see the word ‘men’ in the narrative, it is once again referring to the same general humanity?” He turned and faced the audience, his short hair and dark beard glimmering in the spotlights hanging above. “If the ‘men who multiplied on the earth and the daughters that were born to them’ is just a commentary on the human race at that time, then it must have been the intention of the writer to distinguish the generations of Adam from the sons of God.” At this, he stood, his chair sliding backward and out from under him. “The sons of God — Bne-Ha-Elohim — is an expression that occurs only four other times in the Old Testament. Job 1:6, Job 2:1, Job 38:7, and Daniel 3:25. And in every one of these cases, it is indisputably speaking of angels.”